Echoes of the Heart
by gab2541996
Summary: They were sisters. It made them close. But ultimately it kept them apart. Major AU in Legacy and following storyline. 20/5 : SEQUEL UP!
1. Prologue : Echoes

___Bethany ran._

___ Flickering shadows behind her told her that her pursuers were gaining, inch by inch. The Blightlands flashed by around her._

___ Farther ahead, Bethany spied the glint of silvery steel as her older sister, Clarissa, and her younger brother, Carver, cleared a path for them. She saw their blades rise and fall, cleave and block, slash and parry, all the while moving forward. The feral screams of Darkspawn echoed in unison, adding hideous vocals to the deadly dance of visceral combat._

___ Gathering her power, Bethany loosed a ball of crackling, orange flames at the tainted creatures behind her. It impacted, ferociously, forming a wall of fire that blocked the winding path and licked at the incoming Hurlocks with tongues of orange light. It would keep them at bay, but only for a short moment._

___ Bethany kept running._

___ To where, she knew not. Until when, she knew not. All she knew, and wanted, was to run. Leave all else behind, save for her and her family, or what was left of it._

___ Her staff flashed as she loosed bolt after bolt of magical energy at the relentless Darkspawn, setting them aflame, freezing them solid, or just blasting them apart with raw, physical force. She succeeded at keeping the Darkspawn at bay, although their numbers never waned. At times, it seemed that she could see empty space between the advancing Hurlocks, a sign that their numbers were dwindling, but then more would leap from the ridges, cutting off the sight of the empty path behind them once again. No matter how hard Bethany tried, no matter how many she felled, where one fell, another would rise in its place._

___ After Maker knew how long, they reached an open plain. It was a round patch of land, with a narrow path opposite where they came from. It was the only way out. Setting eyes on the landscape in front of them, Bethany felt an ominous chill run up her spine. Had she seen this before? Had she been here before?_

___ She looked behind her._

___ The Hurlocks were gone. The only sign that anything had happened was the occasional splotches of blood on the sun-baked rock. The Blightlands around her were deserted._

___ Or so she thought._

___ At that moment, Bethany felt, or rather heard, a deep rumbling. It approached at an alarming pace, twin footfalls that shook the ground like an omen of impending doom._

_ It had to be big._

___Not a Hurlock._

_ It had to be bipedal._

___Not a Genlock._

___ Bethany felt her blood go cold as she realized the source of the disturbance, and remembered why she had seen this place before._

___ Casting her eyes ahead, she saw Carver. Saw his blade poised at his side. Saw his muscles tighten. Saw his eyes burn with a strange light._

___ She saw him start forward._

___ She grabbed his arm._

_ "____Carver, don't do this. You don't have to do this!" She said. She asked. She pleaded, remembering now. The memory was lucid and clear in her mind's eye. "Not again."_

___ A huge fist, rising._

___ A limp body, falling._

___ Carver turned around, and Bethany felt a wave of hopelessness wash over her. _

_ "____Farewell, sister. Take care of Mother for me." Carver said, voice weary with resignation and inevitability, victim of a wretched destiny he could never hope to resist._

_ "____Well, it's always been me doing all the caring." Clarissa Hawke said, trying hard to smile. A single tear found its way down her cheek, released by violet-blue eyes laced with infinite sadness. "Go get 'em, Carver." Her voice broke at the last word._

___ Bethany didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. She just watched as he walked away from them, step by doomed step._

___ A shadow blanketed Carver, a shadow with horns._

___ Bethany closed her eyes, not wanting to bear the sight again._

___ A limp body, fa-_

Bethany Hawke woke with a start.

Light filtered in through a window above her cot, casting a yellow light on her face.

She looked around, half expecting the Blightlands around her. Blank yellow walls surrounded her. The sandstone was rough to the touch. The room she was in was small, furnished by nothing else than the bed she found herself in.

Something shifted beside her. Flame-red hair rolled around, revealing her sister's tousled face. Even while half asleep, the sight of her familiar features reminded Bethany of the days back in Lothering, where countless young men (and quite a few women) fell victim to her sister's sculpted face, lean jaw and mystic violet-blue eyes. Her shoulder-length caramel hair further complemented her tanned skin, drawing admiration and envy alike from fellow women, which she weathered in stride with her easy-going personality and strong tendency to laughter.

But, much has changed since then, and Bethany felt the images slip away, replaced by the nightmare she had just woken up from.

Long eyelashes batted as Clarissa's eyes struggled to open, half-focusing on Bethany. "Beth? What is it?" She asked sleepily. Bethany still couldn't speak, the combined potency of her memories and waking nightmare still vivid in her mind.

Yawning, Clarissa slipped out of the cot and tidied her hair. As her eyes adjusted to the morning light, she noticed the lingering expression of shock and pensiveness on her younger sister's face.

"Bethany? You look like you've kissed an ogre, sis. Are you okay?" She said. Bethany's mind jumped at the word, bringing back visions with surprising clarity, but she recovered amiably and shot back sarcastically, "I ___was _fine, Clare, right up 'til you said 'ogre'."

"Well, good morning to you too." Clarissa laughed, shaking off her grogginess. Walking over to the other side of the room in three steps, she poked a finger into a milk-coloured pile of fur on the floor. "Rise and shine, Luffy!" She said, receiving a ___huff_in response.

Bethany stood, wincing when a splinter buried itself in her left foot. Shouts and clinking reached her ears from outside the window.

"Market open so early?" She asked, stretching herself, feeling the familiar touch of Mana in her mind.

"Apparently, a new group of traders had arrived some days ago." Clarissa said, buckling on her leather underpaddings and donning her armor. As Bethany faced the wall to change into her light blouse, Luffy had the sense to turn around and busy himself scratching an imaginary itch. After a few minutes, both of them were properly attired.

"All that work with the Red Iron paid off! We seem to have some extra coin than I expected." Clarissa said, checking her purse and sheathing a dagger at her waist. "We have all afternoon till Varric's little rendezvous at the Hanged Man. Want to see if that Orlesian silk has finally shown up?" She asked, running her hands through the air and batting her eyes in a dreamlike fashion.

"Only if you're paying." Bethany answered, tightening the laces on her boots.

"That's what I agreed to, right?" Clarissa sighed. "Payment for dragging your unwilling arse to a tavern, I suppose. Carver would've jumped at that, you know."

Bethany froze at that, casting her eyes downward, thinking of the time when Carver turned sixteen, almost draining Dane's tankards dry. Looking out the window, she tried to clear her head.

___A huge fist, rising._

___ A limp body, falling._

A hand touched her shoulder. Clarissa's. Turning around, Bethany noticed her eyes. They were a shade duller than usual, less vibrant and joyous, more torn and weary.

"I miss him, too." She said simply.

Trotting up next to them, Luffy whined, sharing his sympathy. Bethany nodded, grateful that she still had Clarissa, who understood what she was going through. "Mother must be feeling the same way," She said, "if not worse." The sight of Leandra kneeling next to her brother fresh in her mind, she recalled what her mother had said but a few weeks ago.

___There were four of us when the Blight began. It will never be over while there are just three._

Bethany looked at her older sister and saw the same thoughts running across her face.

They stood there for some minutes, leaning against each other and feeling the soothing touch of the warm sunlight until Clarissa finally said, "Come on. Every moment we dawdle here means that Orlesian silk may be slipping through our grasp." Bethany felt strong arms beckoning to her, gently, but firmly, tugging her away. Away from familiar sorrow and heartbreak.

Away from a promise broken.

Away from a horrifying memory best forgotten.

Away from Carver Hawke. The cheeky little brother, the ruthless warrior, and the one person they failed to protect.


	2. Protector

"Ah, and here we are!" Varric crowed as he pulled out a chair, beckoning to the shy, petite figure trailing behind Clarissa Hawke. Bethany Hawke sat down nervously, flickering eyes betraying the fact that she was absolutely uncomfortable in the Hanged Man's musky, dim-lit lounge. Clarissa Hawke looked at her younger sister, through the faint smoke in the lounge, violet-blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

By her count, this was the second time Bethany had ever been in a tavern. To really introduce her into the city life of Kirkwall, or perhaps any city at all, she had to bring her here more often.

Taverns often serve the less… desirable persons in a city, namely guildsmen, soldiers, guardsmen and shady characters. Clarissa noticed that Bethany was nigh at ease with that fact. Anyhow, it was the perfect place to hunt for jobs, contracts, or simply unexpected coin, which Bethany understood, but disliked all the more. If one could bear getting their hands dirty, taverns are treasure troves of opportunities.

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarissa noticed that their entrance, although discreet, had drawn almost every pair of male eyes in the tavern, with a majority of them directed at her sister.

She couldn't blame them, really.

Clarissa silently marveled at Bethany, at her tanned, almond-shaped face, her shoulder-length jet-black hair the curled at the ends, her low-cut, contrasting white tunic and the balanced, curvaceous figure underneath, barely concealed by the garment, at her long, lithe legs clad in leggings and boots, at the newly purchased Orlesian silk scarf which Bethany tied loosely around her neck, then finally her soft, slightly worried brown eyes that told so much about her, yet seemed so guarded. _Maker, she's stunning. _She never understood why the men in Lothering always seemed to have their eyes on her instead of Bethany. Clarissa felt her gaze unwittingly linger on her younger sister, as it did countless times before.

Whistling was heard, which snapped Clarissa back to the present. Shaking herself, she tore her gaze from Bethany to Varric, smiling.

Bethany, however, noticed the comparatively subtle commotion she and her sister had caused, and whilst her sister seemed to enjoy it, she shared no interest in that regard. Constant physical exertion and practicing magic had kept her lean and fit which, to a point, would have accentuated her features. She had expected some form of attention from men, but had never considered herself any different from the farm girl next door. She had not expected so much eyes on her and certainly not in such an open manner. Magic, she could handle. Darkspawn, she could handle. Drunken men sizing her up, not so much. She winced and scowled as a heavyset man stumbled next to her. The man moved on, but not before flashing a husky smile laced with suggestiveness. Clarissa saw Bethany's face tighten in disgust and her right hand cast a faint blue light under the table.

"Come now, Bethany. It's not the first time men have watched you! It's something you deal with on a daily basis, isn't it?" Clarissa put a reassuring hand on Bethany's shoulder, mailed gauntlets clinking, and helped a chuckling Varric wave the waitress over with the other.

The last time Varric had invited the Hawkes to the Hanged Man, Bethany had respectfully declined. This time, Varric had said out loud, "And I hereby cordially request Milady Sunshine's company in the upcoming night's festivities at the Hanged Man's Tavern. There will be drink and music aplenty, and what better venue to discuss our business ventures together is there?" He even put in a mock bow to complete the act.

"There's a first time for everything, Beth," was Clarissa's subtle but insistent encouragement. She had later resorted to bribery to coax a promise out of Bethany, who was a sucker for all things silken.

After the little shopping trip in the Lowtown market, the duo had returned to Gamlen's house to outfit themselves for the night. As Bethany looked suspiciously at the garment her sister had chosen for her, Clarissa reassured her by showing her a dagger she kept concealed in her belt, batting her eyes in mock exasperation. "Anyone who so much as touches you is going to have a very bad night. Now you just go ahead and be your sexy self."

Casting a wayward glance at her sister, Bethany felt slightly reassured as her order of the least potent spirit in the tavern arrived.

"Nothing like a stiff drink to talk stiff business over. Well, except for you, of course, Sunshine." Varric said, "In time you'll learn to love it." He downed half a mug a draught.

Clarissa halved his effort.

Bethany, however, only took a small sip, but it was already enough make her cheeks flush. Maker's breath, it had quite the kick. "Anyways. There's some talk about a Fereldan Grey Warden that…"

Three hours later, Bethany stumbled out the front door of the tavern. After two mugs of the stale liquor Varric had recommended, she had begun to see double. Clarissa, however, had well been on her fifth round when Bethany had bid her pardon and stepped outside. It had been hard enough already to resist the mellowing effects of the liquor, but on top of that, she had to keep her head collected and listen to Varric's grand plan to recruit some Grey Warden in Kirkwall to join them.

Should've stuck to even lighter stuff, she made a mental note. _Damn that bastard of a Varric and his so-called "special treatment"!_

In her stupor, she hadn't noticed the man that trailed her out of the tavern.

She was surprised, utterly caught off guard when she was grabbed roughly from behind, being shoved into a back alley, away from the heat and light of the Hanged Man. Cold fear entered her mind as the vibrancy and apparent safety of the noise from the Hanged Man faded farther and farther away. Darkness enclosed her vision. It became hard to even open her eyes. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as they felt stale, warm breaths on them.

"'Ello, sweet…" A male voice breathed down her neck, making her jump. "Not very safe, y'know, wandering off on yer lonesome…" It cooed. Bethany felt hands moving from the small of her back, slowly towards the front. Something sweet-smelling and cloying was held in front of her nose, and she unwittingly inhaled the scent. Abruptly, she felt her strength leave her, and her connection to the Mana in her veins was severed.

Vainly, she reached for the magic, for the power to defend herself. But the liquor has addled her mind, clouded her judgment. Her focus was dampened, and her grasp on her power slipped. Anger and fear battled within her, making her redouble her efforts to no avail.

She was powerless.

Defenseless.

Whoever it was, she was at his mercy.

"No…" She murmured softly, unable to raise her voice. Clarissa couldn't hear, Varric couldn't hear, nobody could.

Rough fingers closed on her brooch at the hem of her tunic.

"No…" Someone, anyone, please…

Abruptly, Bethany felt the rough fingers on her body being ripped away. She felt her faceless assailant being flung away from her by a formless, powerful force, as lithe as a cat's touch, as ferocious as a bear's grip. She heard the huff of breath as an impact on a nearby wall was heard.

Was it magic? Whatever it was, she certainly didn't, couldn't have done that.

She whimpered, not able to comprehend. Everything was happening so quickly. Too quickly. Leaning against an invisible wall, she felt tears fight its way out of her eyelids.

A liquid squelch reached Bethany's ears, along with a feeling of something splashing on the back of her clothes.

The clinking of chainmail filled the alley.

"What…?" Bethany breathed, confused all the more.

Hands gripped her again. This time slowly, softly. Somehow it felt… familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

Clarissa Hawke shifted the unstable weight of her sister on her shoulders, sheathing her dagger back to its place around her waist. She felt her sister stir. She looked around, seeing brown eyes mired in fear and confusion, her youthful, attractive face slipping between unconsciousness and a waking stupor, her lithe, petite form fragile and weak. In the dim light offered by the moon, Clarissa could see why the man had made the attempt.

At that moment, she felt a myriad mixture of emotions course through her: An overwhelming relief, a persisting worry, and something… different.

Bethany was beautiful, no doubt. Every time Clarissa had laid eyes on her, it always made her falter. Every time she felt Bethany's cool, small fingers come into contact, it always made her stiffen, if not only a little. They had shared much of their lives together, be it spending whole days together going round Lothering, attracting a host of young men at their heels, or lying under trees on warm summer nights, counting the stars and enjoying each others' company.

They were sisters. It made them close, yet ultimately it kept them apart.

For countless nights, when Bethany had propped herself against the tree and fall asleep, Clarissa would stay awake, watching her closed eyes flutter as she dreamed. On some of those nights, Clarissa had been invariably torn apart. A part of her bade restraint, to refuse relinquishing control over herself, to treat a younger sister as she should and not forsake her duty in protecting her.

They were sisters, _was that not enough?_

Yet, as a fragment of her heart pleaded reason, another shard yearned for release. By her count, at least fifteen young men had made subsequent attempts at wooing her, and though their endeavors were impressive, she had spurned them all. On some nights, she had set her eyes on Bethany, on the delicate, black curls that framed her shapely face, on the soft, brown eyes that often opened and met her own gaze, on the full, red lips that beckoned to her oh so sweetly, like a forbidden fruit aching for release.

Sisters, they were, and no one knew them as well as they did each other. But deep down, Clarissa had always yearned.

_Yearned for more._

For nineteen years, she had wrestled with those two parts of her, torn apart every time Bethany looked at her, smiled at her, whispered in her ear, cried in her arms.

Rationalizations against impulses, reason against desire.

Over the hardships of the last year, the sisters had become closer, and it relieved and horrified Clarissa at the same time. She had tried her hardest at defending her family. Sometimes she won, sometimes she lost. But no matter the outcome, the fight was always clear to her.

This fight, however, she wasn't sure of. She wasn't sure what to do, not when friend and foe were one and the same.

"Clare? What…" Bethany asked weakly, trying to regain composure. Clarissa sighed inwardly and blinked to clear her mind. _Mulling over possible mental breakdowns will have to wait_, she thought. Her eyes refocused on Bethany, her younger sister. The baffled expression on her face made Clarissa laugh softly.

"Come on, sister, mother is probably going to gut me and make me do the chores for the next ten years, in that order." She said, draping Bethany's arm over her own shoulders. Bethany slumped against her older sister, oblivious to the jolt of electricity Clarissa felt course though her as Bethany's head fell on her left shoulder, bare skin on skin.

Not magic. _Damn it. _Frustrated, Clarissa snapped at herself.

_You are _disgusting,_ Clarissa Hawke. _A voice said in the back of her head. She smiled at that. That was what Carver would've said. She almost wanted to hear his gruff, sarcastic voice chime in.

Shifting her weight, Clarissa Hawke began the long walk home with Bethany Hawke, her younger sister, on her back.


	3. When Uphill Goes Downhill

The leaves rustled as a chilling wind swept through the narrow mountain pass, making Bethany huddle closer to the fire. The Dalish Keeper, Marethari, had warned her and Clarissa that the trek up the mountain would be long and steep. It ringed all the more true to Bethany now, after a long day being surrounded by pines, oaks and every other tree she could name. She cast her eyes back to where they came from, to the darkness now engulfing the narrow path which made her shudder slightly. The passages of Sundermount were unsettling enough to Bethany, and at night, the shadows seemed to move amidst the thick trees. It didn't help that Bethany could almost smell the magic in the air. The whole mountainside thrummed with power, remnants of powerful magics unleashed ages past.

Looking down, she cast her thoughts away from the darkness surrounding the camp and focused on studying the object she cradled in her hands, which reflected the light from the embers and gave itself a glowing, flowing appearance. Seeing the amulet had brought back memories of that day in the Blightlands, which had plagued Bethany's waking dreams ever since. She was thankful to have it out of her hands soon. It reminded her too much of old wounds.

Wounds she'd rather kept locked away and forgotten.

Wounds that surfaced every night in her head, filling her mind's eye with his face.

_Sibling._

The person that had had her braid pinned to the bed. The person that had warred with her for Mother's attention.

_Rival._

The person that had oh so proudly marched off to face the Darkspawn at ill-fated Ostagar. The person that had limped back on Clarissa's shoulder, covered in blood, half unconscious, from that exact ordeal.

_Warrior._

The person with the loudest war cry around, throwing himself at the Darkspawn so that they would never reach her or her family. Bethany still remembered the fierce glint in his eyes when he fought.

_Sacrifice._

All her annoyances about him, all her disdain for his sarcastic, dour airs, all her exasperation at his lame but insistent pranks. It all vanished when she beheld the monster taking him away.

_Carver._

So engrossed was she in her looping thoughts, she didn't see Clarissa settle down beside her until she felt her hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to face Clarissa, making no attempt to conceal what was going on through her mind. The violet-blue eyes softened, exuding comfort and kindred sorrow.

_At least I still have you, sister. _She thought, grateful once again for her continued support. She watched as her elder sister, ever vigilant, disappear into the trees for one last sweep of the perimeter .

"Supper!" A voice chimed in merrily. Bethany's eyes rose to a slender, light figure entering the camp. Clutched in her hands was a bountiful brace of wild hares.

Bethany scrutinized the elf closely. Merrill had joined them at the base on the mountain, looking much like a young child ready for her first adventure with twinkling sage-colored eyes and a nervous smile. Bethany had welcomed her at first, thinking that she would be a fine companion who would know the intricate pathways of Sundermount _and_ still be conversational and warm, unlike the Dalish elves she heralded from, who were cold and wary of humans.

Yet as they ascended the winding mountain pass, something made Bethany doubt herself about her first impressions of the Dalish pariah. When they stopped for a respite from the seemingly endless hiking to the top of the peaks, Bethany had felt the Veil, already thin around them, shift ever so slightly. The breach had been small enough, just so that simple communication could pass through. While Bethany's mind tingled with the sudden proximity of the Fade and its denizens, she cast her eyes round, to find the elven mage kneeling beside a shady fern with her back facing her and Clarissa. A strange, shifting light had illuminated the shadows around Merrill, and Bethany felt copious amounts of Mana being drawn in by the Elven mage. However she presented herself, Merrill was something more than what met the eye, Bethany thought. A watchful eye on her would be preferable.

Merrill, however, was seemingly oblivious to the wary stare directed at her as she skinned and cleaned the party's meal. Soon, Clarissa returned from the fringes of the woods surrounding their makeshift camp, drawn in by the aroma of flame-grilled hare. Bethany felt hunger claw at her after the long day, and she gladly took the golden-brown meat offered to her by Merrill, who then looked at Bethany and Clarissa intently as they took bites out of the morsels. The meat had been tended to with care for the last quarter-hour, Bethany noticed, and it was more than enough to elicit a pleasured moan from Clarissa as she took another bite with unladylike gusto. The little Elven cook beamed at that, eyes sparkling like gems. As the three women focused on their food, they paid no heed to the forest around them, where a white mist slowly blanketed the trees.

Bethany had only started to enjoy the meal when she saw Merrill's proud, satisfied expression take a drastic turn. The elf suddenly cast her gaze around the camp, eying the surrounding darkness in apparent alarm. The mist had solidified then, a roiling, black mass that surrounded the light from the campfire. In the scant light, the mist seemed to _absorb_ light. Nudging her sister, Bethany retrieved her staff and warily stood. Clarissa immediately drew her sheathed longsword and Bethany saw her eyes narrow and her warrior instincts come alive.

Figures emerged from the mist. Humanoid figures. Darkness shrouded them as a cloak would, but from the gaits and stumbles they made while advancing through the cloud, Bethany identified them as undead.

Naked blades, battered shields and broken bows were held in their hands. Soundless snarls and growls they wore on their faces. Every movement they made accentuated their unnatural strength and their soulless mind. Slaves, they were. And where there were slaves, there were masters close at hand.

Casting her mind outwards, Bethany attempted to locate the source of the entropic energy that animated the corpses. There were at least a dozen of the stinking, reeking deformations taking positions around the camp. It told Bethany that they were being controlled, and that it was no mindless meddling of a wayward spirit. Vaguely, she was aware of Merrill, gathering a nimbus of dark green magic at her fingertips, lips moving frantically but silently in prayer.

Her sister stayed by her side, wheeling around every so often, menacing the oncoming undead with her deathly violet-blue eyes. Bethany gasped when she felt an especially powerful pulse of magic surface in her mind's eye, emanating from one particular corpse sauntering its way through the mist. Even through the mist, Bethany and her sister saw that it towered over its fellows, reaching at least eight feet tall. Its shadows highlighted a huge blade held in its right hand, and a buckler in its left. Two ominous yellow orbs marked its eyes in the flickering mist, eyes that, Bethany saw, focused on Clarissa.

Merrill uttered several lines in Elvish, voice slightly trembling in fear. Clarissa caught "Elgar", "Abelas", "Atisha" among the words.

Compared to the Darkspawn, the undead around them were silent, unlike the tainted creatures she and Bethany had fought. Even so, the sight of the Revenant approaching them sent a chill down Clarissa's spine. Tales of the undead generals have often circulated Lothering, with talk of a single one massacring dozens of hunters and soldiers. The sensation intensified when the Revenant stepped fully out of the swirling mist, and leveled its huge, ungainly blade at her.

"Shem." It said, voice deep and foreboding, with a hint of barely restrained fury. "Great evils you carry into our realm." _What? _Clarissa blanched at the accusation. Her mind snapped to the amulet she was sent here for. The pendant had unnerved her when she gazed at it in Gwaren, and although Bethany had detected no discernible magics from it, she had warned Clarissa to be wary. It seemed her sister's precautions had merit.

Her eyes returned to the present, to the Revenant's unholy gaze on her.

"Leave. Or die." Clarissa faltered at that, and pondered its words, flashing back to that scene in the Blightlands, with the high dragon swooping down on the Darkspawn horde and felling them one and all. The woman that had given the amulet to her was a formidable creature, at the least. Could she risk antagonizing Flemeth, or should she keep her blade steady and fight? A moment of tense silence passed with the Revenant and the warrior staring into each others' eyes, never breaking contact as Clarissa weighed her options.

She hadn't, however, counted on the amulet itself having its own way about things.

A red hue engulfed the camp as the pouch at Clarissa's belt discharged a wave of physical force. The corpses waiting in the wings took the brunt of the wave and fell, drained of energy. Bethany felt the wave pass over her and felt a wave of fatigue grip her, making her knees weak and causing her to drop to the ground. Glancing across the camp, she saw similar expressions on Merrill's shocked face. Clarissa, at the center of the wave, watched in horror as the Revenant recoiled and screamed a high-pitched wail. The horror intensified as she saw the undead general recover with astonishing speed, yellow orbs turning crimson and refocusing. On her.

It started forward.

Clarissa, seeing Bethany and Merrill on the ground utterly spent, cursed under her breath and held her blade ready as her opponent stood not ten feet away from her. She spied Bethany, skin deathly pale, rendered powerless by the miasmic spell the amulet had triggered. In her peripheral vision, she saw Merrill's prone, unconscious form as well. She cursed inwardly.

This was a fight for her, and her alone.

The orange flames cast flickering reflections on the dull silver steel as Clarissa smoothed her breathing and focused on the Revenant as she circled. "How dare you," The Revenant spoke, voice ringing out into the night. "How dare you bring such unrest into our realm."

"I have done nothing to provoke you. I was tasked to bring the amulet to the top of the mountain for a simple ritual. After said deed is done, I will depart peacefully." Clarissa addressed the Revenant with the most diplomatic tone she could muster. Her hopes of avoiding bloodshed were dashed, however, as the abomination scoffed at her words.

"Have you no knowledge of what you intend to do? You feign ignorance and sincerity even as you seek to upset the balance this place has sought for so long. Have you no respect for that? Do you not remember the blood already spilled on these grounds?" It ground out, crimson irises stressing its words. Both warriors tensed as they waited for the single, slight movement that would signal the beginning of the engagement.

The undead general twitched, and Clarissa barely had time to lift her blade when it bounded forward, closing the distance between them. The greatsword in its hand swung in a vicious arc, forcing her to spin as she deflected the main brunt of the blow. The Revenant put surprising force behind each swing, jarring Clarissa's teeth as she parried. _Maker's blood, it's strong! _She thought as she exchanged swinging blows with the Revenant, forced to preemptively raise her blade and brace it with her backhand just to counteract the relentless attack.

Sparks ran free in the night air as they dueled, the Revenant's large, powerful swings against her comparatively quicker jabs and swifter parries. After some moments of narrow escapes because of her relatively small and lithe profile, she was forced to reconsider her approach. Her strength was ebbing from every contact, leaving her gasping for breath. Her lightweight Elven sword grew leaden in her hand, and she saw the beginnings of darkness cloud her vision. If her quarry was tiring, however, it made no sign of it.

She cannot hold out for very long.

_Damn it, Clare. Think! _She berated herself. Brute force was not going to win her this fight. She furrowed her brow as she fought to formulate a strategy. The Revenant chuckled drily at her, allowing her some respite before finishing her off.

Its blows hit hard.

Hard blows carry momentum.

Use the momentum against itself.

The answer came to her then. She disengaged and reviewed her tactics. It was crude, but she had to work with she got. She had to win this fight. Her life depended on it.

Bethany's life depended on it.

She raised her blade in challenge, forcing herself to sneer. "Is that all you got?" She cried, then jabbed her right foot in the ground, as if daring her quarry to charge.

Bethany watched as the Revenant roared with fury, red eyes furrowing. Vainly, she tried to reach for the magic that would coalesce itself in the undead general's body and rip it apart, but no matter how hard she tried, the Mana she sought eluded her. _Maker grant me strength, please! _The huge blade was brought above the Revenant's head for a murderously heavy blow. If it connected, Clarissa would not stand a chance. Yet facing the oncoming foe, Bethany saw, in her movements, that Clarissa was going to take the assault head on. _What is she thinking? No sane person could charge that monstrosity and live!_

She could die.

Just like Carver had.

_No._

Bethany cast her eyes around, and saw her staff, lying not three feet away from her. She reached for it. Magic may not be accessible to her right now, but the blade on the staff was certainly within her power. She had to reach it. The monster would win, otherwise, and her sister would die defending her.

Clarissa watched intently as the Revenant charged again, sword cutting through the air towards her. _Wait... wait..._

In the split second when the edge was about to touch Clarissa's face, she sidestepped, prancing sideways with a quickness and grace only women could manage. The cleaving blow from the Revenant hit thin air, and Clarissa's eyes lit up triumphantly as she envisioned the blade running through the creature's exposed back. _Gotcha. _She thought as she raised her blade for the deathblow.

She didn't count on, however, the Revenant's blade's length.

Clarissa felt surprise and cold fear when the flat of the massive sword hit her sideways as the Revenant flourished its weapon. It may not have been fatal, but the strength of the undying had done its job. The strike hit like a hammer blow, drawing blood through the steel helm she wore. Clarissa Hawke saw stars flutter across her vision, and she lost her grip on her blade and fell onto the damp grass right next to where Bethany laid unconscious. Vaguely, she could make out a humanoid shape towering over her, with two iridescent orbs almost smiling in evil triumph. A cloud obscured the moonlight.

It was going to kill her.

It was going to kill her, then it's going to kill Bethany.

_Bethany. _She tried to reach for her, to shield her from the danger, like she always had. She blindly groped for her sister's hand, but couldn't find it. Where was she? She blinked in a dazed frenzy as darkness danced in front of her eyes.

"Bethany..." Clarissa managed weakly. There was so much she hadn't told her, and yet it all has to end here, now.

A high-pitched wail reached Clarissa's ears, and terror froze her in place.

"Bethany!" She cried. Had the monster decided to take her sister, instead? She swung her eyes round, barely able to breathe, searching for those soft brown eyes.

She found something else. Something quite astonishing to her.

The Revenant knelt, unceremoniously, on the ground as a long, peculiar shard of metal pierced its chest. It lost its grip on its sword, and when it left the skeletal fingers, the blade dissipated as though made by sand and rotted by time. The armor went next, clattering onto the grass as the corpse that once bore it lost cohesion. The parasitic spirit within the body screamed. Clarissa watched, frozen in place, as the spirit struggled to keep its host standing, getting on all fours before a long, low huff of breath was expunged from the abomination, and the iridescent orbs went out at last.

Squinting, Clarissa barely made out a figure standing above the corpse of the Revenant.

A figure clad in a white, battle-worn garments and lightweight chainmail below the chest. A red sash was tied around the neck, a familiar belt buckled around the waist. Brown leather boots encased the legs, reflecting the intense brown eyes Clarissa now noticed. The eyes turned on her just as the darkness won over and she blacked out.

Consciousness returned to her slowly, the blinking lights of the stars seemingly winking at her as concerned brown eyes came into view. Clarissa Hawke felt slender arms cradle her and a wash of green light surrounded her, soothing her injuries and mending the cuts and bruises on her body from the fight. The surge of creation magic subsided, and Clarissa's eyes refocused on her younger sister's worried gaze.

"Well... This looks familiar..." She croaked, trying to smile. "Except shouldn't our positions be reversed?" Bethany couldn't resist a small chuckle as her sister wearily stood and crossed over to Merrill, who was still unconscious. Bethany watched as Clarissa stopped a few inches short of the Elven girl, squinted at her, then turned round and held her palms together under her right cheek, telling her that the little elf was, miraculously, asleep and it would be best to let her continue.

Sighing, Clarissa plopped down on the grass beside Bethany, leaning on her, exhausted from the duel. The horizon had begun to light up then, and Clarissa felt fatigue grip her despite herself. Had the spell finally caught up with her? Had the Revenant wounded her in some way? Questions ran through her mind, but she found it hard to focus on them.

She felt Bethany read her thoughts, leaning against an nearby tree, shifting slightly to vacate a comfortable spot for her head in her lap. Had she been in better condition, she would have recoiled and made some joke about it then and there, but for once, Clarissa let go of her inhibitions about her thoughts for her delectably beautiful younger sister and laid herself in her lap, feeling Bethany chant a spell of sleep as she would a lullaby, and fell asleep.

Smiling, Bethany stayed awake and kept watch over Merrill's prone form and her sister's gentle snoring until the night gave way to the dawn.


	4. Repercussions

Clarissa awoke to the sound of chirping and birdsong. She opened her eyes and winced as the bright sunlight stung her. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed something obscuring her view of the sky above. Her stirrings must have gone noticed, however, as the something shifted, forming an almond-shaped face, familiar brown eyes, and a soft smile.

"Stayed up all night?" Clarissa asked. Her back was sore from lying on the grass all night. Bethany shrugged, eyes wide and somewhat energetic. "It's a trick father taught me. Magic, in this regard, is quite useful." She said, smiling at the memory. Clarissa watched her brown eyes drift away before removing her head from Bethany's embrace and stood. She scanned the camp, but could not find Merrill.

"She left a few hours ago. Volunteered to scout the way forward." Bethany said, reading her thoughts. "I would've gone with her, but with your head being where it was, I couldn't exactly move." She smiled again. It made Clarissa blush slightly, but she managed not to show it.

"Sorry, mom." Clarissa retorted, swatting her shoulder. "Any idea of when she'll be back?"

"I don't really know. She'd said we were close to the top. That's why the spirit was so sensitive to our presence. Apparently, a graveyard resides at the peak of Sundermount."

"Then I suppose that makes our encounter last night," Clarissa pointed at the Revenant's resting place, "a run-in with the night shift."

"More or less." Bethany said, busy dousing the fire. A thought clouded her eyes, and she asked, "Hey, Clare. About our Elven companion. Do you notice anything strange about her? I mean, she's adorable to anyone at first glance, but I have the feeling that she's not all that she seems." Her thoughts flashed back to the day before, when she spied Merrill crouched among the bushes.

"The way her own people avoided her, I'd say there's something fishy going on, blood magic included. But if she's smart enough to maintain such a facade, she has to have a good reason to hide it from us. We just have to get to the mountaintop right now. If she wants our trust like she says she does, she has to give hers to us in return." Clarissa answered, "That said, I wouldn't mind another baby sister."

Bethany feigned hurt. "What, am I not a good enough little sister for you, Clarissa Hawke?" She said jokingly, eyes twinkling. "Come on, Merrill said she'd be waiting for us some ways ahead." She didn't notice Clarissa's suddenly pensive expression behind her.

Merrill had been waiting for them farther along the passage. As the sisters approached her, they took notice of their surroundings, which was adorned with broken stone pillars and half-eroded arches. Vegetation had overgrown the ruins, vines and shrubs that accentuate the monuments' history. Giant slabs of stone protruded from the grass, giving the landscape an old, abandoned aura. Even in the midday sun, the chill in the air was evident, making both their spines prickle with the cold, foreboding silence.

As they advanced through the throng of rock formations that occasionally blocked their paths, the trees around them thinned and the grass they trod on took on a yellow-ish colour, and the slabs of stone became more clustered and more prominent. In addition to the tantalizing cold, Bethany felt the sting of raw Mana in the air. It carried much more power than when she first felt it after they had crossed the spiritual barrier, tendrils of long forgotten magic that permeated the clearing in front of them. The saturation in the air was so strong that her eyes could see the pulsating, dormant power coursing through the grass, into the air, then back down again.

On high alert, the sisters trailed behind Merrill and came to the center of the clearing, where they could see a particular slab of stone at the edge of the mountaintop, adorned with a single, flickering candle that burned with a strange light. As they approached, the soft wind that had set the grass rippling beforehand suddenly stopped, as if something had decided to hold its breath. The air grew peculiarly still, as if in worried anticipation.

"Give me the amulet." Merrill said. Her voice took on a commanding edge, and had lost its innocent tone and naïve bearing. Clarissa eyed her uneasily, but reached into the pouch and handed it to the Elven mage regardless, although her other hand never left the pommel of her sword. She felt Bethany tense like a coiled snake as the clearing thrummed with power, increasing step by step as Merrill approached the altar.

Sundermount mountain froze in place as a lone elf stood at its most sacred ground, flanked by two unnerved humans. The birds ceased their songs, the leaves cut short their monotonous rustling, and the animals that ran free became as silent as ghosts as it waited.

"Hahren na Melana Sahlin..." Merrill began, her voice even lower than usual and acquiring a ritualistic air. As the lines left her throat, a wind swept through the clearing, as if the it provided the melody for the haunting chant.

"Emma ir Abelas, Souver'inan Isala Hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas..." Merrill continued. Bethany felt streams of Mana drained from the tombstones around her and flowing onto the altar, into the red amulet resting there. The ground itself shook as the mountain graveyard fed itself into the ruby gemstone.

The winds strengthened to a howl, ripping through the leaves and the grass with an force unheard of for generations. The rustling and snapping of twigs and branches filled Clarissa's senses as she shielded her eyes from the dirt kicked up by the gusts. Bethany fought to stand her ground as the wind battled against her footing. The magic in the air intensified, and a distant roar, faint but distinct, reached her ears.

Still, Merrill continued her litany.

Leaves flew around her in halos of flickering green. The amulet flashed bright yellow, dangerously red, then a piercing blue, changing colours as the Elven lines awakened whatever resided within. Bethany felt it. Clarissa, even without magic, felt it as well.

Beams of light lanced out of the amulet, dwarfing the midday sun in its intensity and reaching out like spears into the dark stormclouds forming above. A low growling emanated from the small pendant, a monotonous protest of impatience that echoed the low rumble of thunder on the horizon.

Merrill lifted her gaze into the gray blanket that covered the sun itself, and with a slight hint of regret, completed the final verse of her spell.

"In Uthenera... Nar revas."

Clarissa and Bethany registered the final word with alarm.

_Revas._

_ Freedom._

With thunderous report, the amulet shattered, releasing a great blast of physical force that knocked Merrill and the sisters to the ground. The altar cracked. The great slab of stone, being unable to withstand the tremendous force, splintered and was literally blasted apart. A fiery light surrounded the remains of the altar, making Clarissa shield her eyes as she tried to pierce the veil it had wrought.

The wind subsided, leaving the mountain strangely silent. It was as if the very life of the forest was sapped away. The dreadful silence was only broken by the occasional thunder, punctuating the scene in a dark, ominous fashion. Clarissa, being the steadfast warrior that she was, quickly got back on her feet, eyes on the light, hand on her sword. Bethany got up as well, right hand flashing a deep blue in preparation to work magic, left grasping her staff tightly, knuckles turning white.

A silhouette of a person emerged in the curtain of light, fading in and out of view. Merrill staggered and stood, head bowed in fear and reverence. The shifting curtain dimmed somewhat, and Clarissa could register a feminine profile. Horns protruded out of the silhouette's head, giving it a primal, outlandish appearance.

The figure in the light took a step forward, revealing pointed, knee-high steel boots that gleamed in reflection. A slim, yet imposing body followed, clad in a tight crimson corset that seemed decidedly ancient, yet strangely entrancing. Clarissa's grip on her sword faltered as a spark of recognition ignited behind her eyes, as her violet-blue eyes came into contact with a gaze of molten gold.

Flemeth's eyes wandered from Clarissa, taking in the mountaintop graveyard. Clarissa saw her inhale deeply, as a newborn would taking her first breath, as a dragon would heeding her prey's scent. She was just how Clarissa remembered her : Unseemly, but powerful; Secluded, but wise; Deceptively kind, yet possessed of a wrath few could match. Her thoughts flashed to and fro, remembering the day they first met. She was unsure as to loosen the grip on her sword or tighten it.

Flemeth exhaled slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. "Ah... And here we are at last." She said, her voice strangely cheerful. "It's as I remembered, this place." Her dark yellow eyes traveling between Clarissa, Bethany and Merrill, she smiled contentedly, her expression revealing nothing else than her satisfaction.

"Andaran atish'an, Asha'bellanar." Merrill said, dropping to one knee as she would when worshipping a goddess. Flemeth looked at her, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"One of the People, I see... So young and bright." She smiled, a hint of pity colouring the molten gold. "Do you know who I am, beyond that title?"

Merrill bowed even lower. Fear crept into her downcast face. "I know only a little." She croaked. Clarissa watched the exchange tensely, gaze flitting from elder to younger, from mage to shapeshifter.

"Then stand! The People bend their knee too quickly." Flemeth said, sounding like a Keeper lecturing her clan, with a touch of regret. Merrill warily stood, although she kept her head bowed.

At last, Flemeth turned upon Clarissa and Bethany, expression taking on a haughty air. She laughed softly.

"So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of a bargain." She said, "I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant's pocket!"

Clarissa took a breath inwardly and tried to be civil. "Apparently, possessed trinkets are not in fashion anymore." She replied with her most casual voice. Flemeth chuckled at that.

"'Twas just a piece. A small piece. But it was all I needed." Flemeth said proudly, as if accomplishing some impossible feat. Her eyes trailed away again. "A bit of security, should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has." She said, partly to herself, partly to the sisters standing before her. The way she said _Morrigan _made Clarissa shudder slightly despite herself. "Is that someone I should know?"

Flemeth smirked, voice acquiring a derisive tone. "She's a girl who thinks she knows what is what better than I, or anyone." Her voice changed again, pride giving way to familiar regret. "And why not? I raised her to be as she is. I cannot expect her to be any less." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes traced the southern horizon as if seeing into the faint line. Then, she focused on Clarissa again.

"Bah! I talk too much and I dawdle for far too long. 'Tis time for me to see how much these mountains have changed."

"You've been here before?" Bethany asked.

Flemeth laughed heartily. "Where have I not been to? The Wilds aren't exactly something to look at, especially when it's the same withered trees and occasional Darkspawn for decades." She said, chuckling, the previous melancholy and sorrow seemingly forgotten in the blink of an eye. The jovial mood was fleeting, however, and Clarissa found herself being watched by scrutinizing, glowing yellow orbs once again.

"Before I go, some words of advice." She said, turning to face the mountains and the thunderheads above. Her eyes darkened as she furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

"We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss, for it knows not what the void holds." She sounded as a prophet would sound when bestowing her divine cautions upon the world.

"Watch for that moment," she cautioned. "And when it comes, do not hesitate to leap!" She spread her arms wide, as a dragon would when taking to the skies.

She turned around, eyes landing on Clarissa.

"There are those who struggle against destiny, and yet only achieve an early grave." She said, eyes locked with a force Clarissa could not escape from.

"There are those who flee destiny, only to have it swallow them whole." She said, her tone making Clarissa flinch from the powerful words.

"But there are those who embrace destiny, and do not show their fear." She said, eyes conveying what words cannot. "It is only when you fall, that you learn if you can fly. The call of destiny echoes around you, Hawke the elder."

"For that which you hold dear, what will you do?"

Then she turned to Merrill, leaving Clarissa to think on her words. Merrill's head remained bowed. Flemeth laid her hand on Merrill's chin, and brought her face up like a consoling mother. "As for you, child. Step carefully. No path is darker than when your eyes are shut." Clarissa and Bethany watched as Merrill curtsied deeply. "Ma Serannas, Asha'bellanar." She replied, afraid to say more. Flemeth then backed away from the elf, and shifted her gaze of molten gold on Bethany.

Bethany attempted to hide her fear of the witch by putting on a defiant expression. Even though Flemeth was kin to her kind, she despised apostates who abused their powers. She gripped the Staff of Parthalan tightly, remaining passive, waiting for the words that would come.

Flemeth smiled, sadly.

"I see turmoil in your heart, young Hawke. I see great sorrow sowed upon your soul, and great sorrows are yet to come. But you cannot cling onto that which is past for far too long." She said, eyes staring past Bethany into the distance. She sighed. "Regret is something I know well. Take care not to hold on to it too tightly, lest the past overwhelm the present."

Bethany painfully maintained a passive expression, eyes losing their defiant gleam. Flemeth's words had struck home, both for her and the warrior standing next to her. Tears welled behind her eyes and she had to fight to push them back.

She felt Clarissa edge closer to her. Flemeth's eyes darted to her, then back to Bethany. Her poise changed somewhat, sadness replaced by smugness, the smile giving way to a forbidden glint in her eyes.

"Ah... I see I may have outstayed my welcome. You have my thanks. And my sympathy." With a final look at the three of them, Flemeth casually strolled to the edge of the mountain graveyard and disappeared into the trees with the rustling of leaves.

Clarissa, Bethany and Merrill stood in silent contemplation long after Flemeth's departure.

"She's right." Clarissa said aloud after some moments, looking up and meeting Bethany's troubled eyes. Clarissa saw her brown eyes reflect her own. She had to muster the courage to continue. She had run away from everything for so long. Was she ready to admit? Was she ready to confront her guilt?

She took a deep breath.

"We've dwelt on the past for far too long." She said. "When Carver died, I couldn't stop to grieve over him. The Darkspawn were upon me, as they were upon you as well."

"At that moment, I hadn't something I couldn't for the past year. I took the pain, the heartbreak, and the regret, and I changed it. In the place of my grievance, I instilled fury. In the place of my heartbreak, I vowed vengeance." She said, the words flowing now, the part of her that had remained undisclosed for an entire year now breaking free. "During those moments, I ran free. My mind was clear, and I had a clear view of what I had to do." It had been so clear to her, as she cut down Hurlock after Hurlock.

"When it was over, however, when we were on the ship, I looked back at myself, and I broke." She continued, the memory taking her breath away. "I felt the pain, the heartbreak and the regret come back. And I allowed it to remain."

"Do you remember? When I met your eyes on the ship?" She remembered it clearly. She had looked into Bethany's eyes with an empty expression. Leandra had been some ways away, wishing time to herself. Bethany had returned her gaze with an unspoken message, conveyed through the sadness that veiled her eyes.

_What do we do now?_

Clarissa had all but broken at that moment, the emotions, old and new, rushing back at once, overwhelming her.

She had squeezed her eyes shut, trying to resist. Despite her efforts, a single tear found its way free and rolled down her cheek.

"I was so afraid then, of all that I had on my shoulders, of all that I had taken on and lost to."

She had quickly turned away, the tears streaming uncontrollably then. Even though she couldn't see it, but she felt Bethany's silent sobs as well.

Her valiant, strong younger sister, who had always looked up to her for guidance, for companionship, for protection. And she showed her her weakness, her inability.

"I was so afraid that I'd fail you as well, and Mother, and Aveline. But instead of coming to terms to my grief, I had allowed it to define me until this day. I had allowed myself to wallow in regret, to lose sight of what is most important." She said, feeling herself again, after one whole year.

She walked up to Bethany and took her sister's hand in her own. "You and Mother are the only family I have left. You two are what I hold dear in my heart." She was tempted to say only "you", but that didn't seem fair to Mother and all the sacrifices she had made for the three of them. It was not the right time. Silently, Clarissa waited for Bethany to speak.

A grateful smile found its place on Bethany's face. "Thank you, sister. For all you have done. We have dwelt too much on the past." She looked Clarissa in the eye.

"It's time to move on." Bethany said, the determined spark lighting her eyes once again.

The sisters stood there, relieved, as the last of their boulders left their renewed hearts. They were interrupted, however, by the sound of monotonous applause.

Merrill stood beside them, clapping her hands together and beaming. She immediately stopped and looked at the ground as they noticed her. "Was that... the wrong thing to do?" She asked sheepishly, blushing horribly and making Clarissa and Bethany burst into joyous laughter.

They flanked Merrill and put their arms on Merrill shoulders, forming a humanoid chain.

"Come on, Merrill. We still have to find you a new home." Clarissa said, making Merrill smile brightly. "In Kirkwall?" She asked.

"Yes, Merrill, in Kirkwall." Bethany answered and shared her sister's grin.

Together, they walked down the once-solemn path as the clouds gave way to the clear blue sky of a bright Kirkwall afternoon.

/Hello there!

I hope you have been enjoying the story so far. I do hope you review my chapters should you find anything of note or interesting to you, as it tells me someone actually does read my work and I can improve even more!  
This particular chapter was loosely based upon the Flemeth encounter on Sundermount, as you probably could tell, but I added something of my own into it. Let me know if you appreciate such variations or you simply prefer a straight AU story! Because trust me, the AU-ness is coming.

Thank you and keep reading! I'll keep posting! R&R!/


	5. Why We Fight

"Evening, Guard Captain." A guardsman said as Clarissa Hawke and Aveline Vallen pushed open the doors to an almost-empty barracks. The guards were changing shifts, with the daylight roster returning to the barracks and the nighttime roster already out in the streets. The only sound they heard was the creaking of hinges as they entered Aveline's office. Clarissa took a seat in one of the chairs and discarded the various accessories of her armor while Aveline walked over and hung her sword on a rack next to the door.

Both were exhausted from a patrol in the Foundry district, which Aveline had assigned herself to and Clarissa had tagged along. Clarissa had bumped into Aveline after escorting Bethany to Ander's clinic, and had insisted to accompany her. It had been a relatively quite patrol and the pair didn't even have to draw swords, which Clarissa credited to Aveline's appearance.

Clad in full armor, Aveline was, as Isabela said, a woman-shaped battering ram. With round, emerald eyes that could break a man's will or uplift it to new heights, Aveline fit the role of a leader of men and women alike perfectly. Her relatively square jaw and short, ginger hair accentuated her aura of masculinity which set her apart from most women, and her strong, balanced physique inspired fear in her quarries and bravery in her comrades.

As a warrior, Aveline Vallen was steadfast and courageous, matching Clarissa in skill and mirroring her in resolve.

As a friend, Aveline Vallen was trustworthy and understanding. They had both suffered loss, and they both vowed to lay down their lives to safeguard what they still have.

Clarissa couldn't have asked for a better companion.

"Well... This route is relatively safe, but I wouldn't trust a single patrol with it. Too many blind corners." Aveline said thoughtfully, hands spread across the table over a map of planned routes for the Guard. Ever since her rise to the captain's position, Clarissa had seen less and less of Aveline. She had missed their conversations in the cramped quarters after her patrols, where Aveline would tell her about the people she had met, the victims she had saved, and most of all, the people she thinks she can help.

Aveline was a champion for the weak, and an avowed enemy of oppression. Clarissa didn't even want to imagine the feelings that would've raged within her when she had to endure the sights and sounds of the downtrodden in Kirkwall's slums, then walk the cobbled, pretentious streets that the elites of the city prided themselves about.

_A shield of the weak._

Yet at a loss with the world against her.

_A protector of the fallen._

Yet powerless as all she loved was taken from her, again and again.

Seeing her brow furrow in irritation and her mouth move in soundless curses, Clarissa put a hand on hers, earning a swift glance from the troubled green eyes. A glance laced with anger, frustration and a deeply rooted sorrow that defined her since the day they met. A glance that made Clarissa's heart flutter with pain for her friend.

Clarissa led her to the pair of chairs opposite her usual seat and sat her down with a gentle but firm push.

"Don't you think you're neglecting your guest a bit?" Clarissa said, trying on her most infectious smile. Aveline's eyes flashed back briefly to the chart on the table, then she sighed and rubbed her temples.

"I suppose Hightown patrols can wait. The lords and ladies have their own guards anyway." She leaned back in her chair, her brows relaxing. She looked at Clarissa and smiled. "It _has _been a while, Hawke." She said, tone laced with weariness. Clarissa smiled as well, casting her eyes around the office. She spotted a rack of wine beside the bookshelf behind Aveline, and she reached for one of the bottles.

"What are you doing? Those aren't ours!" Aveline said, sounding pretty much like a bewildered little girl when she saw that her exclamation hadn't deterred Clarissa one bit.

"No, they're not. They're Jeven's. Fruits of his 'labor', no doubt. He won't miss it, and the Seneschal certainly wouldn't give another thought before he 'confiscates' it into his little lockbox." Clarissa popped the cork and tasted it before she magicked a pair of glasses from somewhere in the room. She watched as Aveline's eyes turn from alarm to amusement, an emotion she was glad she could give her.

"I guess he won't." Aveline grinned sheepishly, taking the filled glass from Clarissa and hung it under her nose as she looked her friend in the eye. "You never cease to be trouble, Hawke." She shook her head.

Her eyes trailed from Clarissa's comical expression to her outstretched shield arm, which Clarissa laid on the table, and noticed the collection of bruises she had on her delicate, toned skin. She glanced at her own shield arm and found far less marks. Then she remembered that Clarissa never bore a shield, but a large, metal bracer that functioned much like a buckler, but with far more mobility. Her curiosity piqued, she pointed a finger at Clarissa's arm. "Why do you favor a bracer over a shield? It's certainly more protective to your arm to have a plank of wood or sheet metal to deflect blows with."

Clarissa glanced at her arm and a sheepish smile appeared on her lips. "I don't even notice the bruises. They've been there ever since I held a blade." She rubbed her arm, wincing when it stung. "It's kind of a long story, and it's kind of a silly reason." She said, taking a sip of the wine.

"We have about two candlemarks until the day shift comes back, so humor me." Aveline said. At Aveline's insistence, she felt her thoughts drop back ten years ago.

"I was sixteen then, and it had been the day I first forged my sword and shield." Clarissa began, the memories flowing back.

_A hot summer's day as she jogged to the smithy in the village, feet light in nervous energy and eyes bright with anticipation. The smith, Aedan welcoming her with a greasy hand on her shoulder. The furnace's orange light illuminating the racks of swords, daggers, bucklers and shields on the wall. She had been so excited to finally have a weapon of her own, to be able to care for it and grow with it, to wield it until it felt like an extension of her._

"I still remember the feeling of holding my sword for the first time, the feel of its hilt pressed into my palm, the sight of its glittering edge mirroring my eyes, the rush of wind it made when it sliced through the air." Clarissa said, eyes looking out the window, across the Waking Sea. "The sword was perfect, but expensive, so I bought my shield from an old templar Father knew well. It still had the templar's sigil embossed on it when I looped it through my arm, and it felt inexplicably strange when I held it, like it wasn't suited for me. Nevertheless, I thanked Aedan profusely, and when I walked out the door, I met two templars that were waiting for me."

_The uneasiness she felt as she greeted the templars, constantly reminded of her secrets against the Order. Her shock when she realized their purpose waiting outside the smithy._

_ To recruit her._

_ "_'I hear you've quite the reputation around here. For a farm girl trained by retired guards and old veterans, your skills with a blade surpasses most of our candidates.' He said cheerily, but I didn't let my guard down. 'Normally we only allow members of the Chantry to join the ranks of our order, but I hear from sister Leliana that you attend the sermons regularly and you seem to know the Chant like the back of your hand.' Which was part of the act, by the way. 'We're willing to make an exception, on account of your exceptional case.' He winked. He wasn't that old, and I could tell he had a thing for me. Not that he flashed it around, but I could've read him like a book, as I did with most men."

_A disguise of apparent interest, a promise of consideration, a swift run back to the farmhouse. Partly to escape the templars, partly to show Carver her new toys._

_ Her surprise at a familiar figure waiting by the door. She didn't expect Bethany to be up that early. She didn't expect her standing at the door. She was younger than her, but old enough to recognize the blazing sword she bore on her newly acquired shield._

"You can't imagine the look on her face. The horror I saw etched into her features as she saw the steel shield on my arm, the symbol of the one thing she feared the most in her life." Clarissa said, her mind's eye re-enacting the scene in immaculate detail. "I was her sister. Her older sister. I led her for the first time around Lothering. I bought her her first dress. I was the only person she looked up to aside from Father and Mother."

"And there I was, bearing the mark of that which was the bane of her life, the order of that which was the hunters of their kind."

"She ran back into the house, and I could hear Mother holding her tight as she cried. I stood in the fields, my joy gone, my excitement burned out, my heart shattered by what I had done." Clarissa said, Bethany's sobs almost audible to her ears. She saw Aveline's eyes soften with shock and sadness.

_ Laying the sword and shield on the table they shared; Falling onto the bed they slept in. Bethany's brown eyes encompassing her vision, Bethany's sobs echoing through her head._

_ She had remembered her younger sister. Remembered comforting her during the thunder and lightning; remembered keeping her warm from the snow and ice; remembered singing her to sleep when she woke in the middle of the night; remembered taking revenge on the boys that pulled her hair and pinched her face. She had taken all this, and she had destroyed it in one fell stroke._

"I remember taking the shield out into the fields. I remember scraping it with my new sword, gritting my teeth and screaming silently as the mark of the templars faded from view, line by screeching line. I remember taking a shovel from the shed. I remember battering the shield with it until it was a foot deep in the dirt. I remember covering the glittering steel with brown soil, and I remember walking back up the path to where Mother and Bethany were standing."

_She had been crying. The smooth, white skin around her eyes swollen and red. Trails of liquid diamond traced her almond-shaped face, making her shed tears of her own. She had taken her by her hand, looking at Mother with renewed purpose. She had taken her to the smithy, Aedan surprised and bewildered when she asked him to make her a steel bracer. _"Didn't the templar sell you a shield?" _He had asked._

"I looked at Bethany, at the complex strains of emotions troubling her innocent, angelic face, and I smiled."

"'Not anymore.'"

Clarissa noticed the streaks of wetness that lined her cheeks, and she hurriedly wiped at them with her arm. She felt the warmth of her tears sooth the throbbing of her bruises. "It was another day until I received my bracer. According to Aedan, it was the finest he had ever forged. At my insistence, he etched a symbol onto the back of the steel."

_The bracer fit her arm perfectly as she flexed her fingers and her right shoulder, pleased when she felt no discomfort. She heard Bethany come into the room. _"What's that on the back?" _She asked, noticing the symbol at the back._

"It was a eagle crossed with a hawk, in the fashion of Mother's family's seal. I remember Bethany's fingers running over it as I told her that the hawk was me, and the eagle was her. 'I will never leave you, dear sister. Even should all the templars in Thedas come looking for you, you remember this seal on your sister's arm, and you remember that I will always be there, and I will never, _ever, _leave you.'"

A moment of silence followed as Clarissa downed the glass of wine in one go. Aveline looked at Clarissa intently, her eyes revealing her understanding of what Clarissa forsook when she buried the shield in the dirt.

The shield, the pride of a full-fledged warrior.

The templars, the most prestigious calling that can ever be bestowed on a person.

"You gave it all up. For Bethany. Even... even I couldn't have done that." She said haltingly, eyes shifting from understanding to thoughtfulness.

For one to forsake so many for that which she loved, surely that affection, that love, runs deeper than most. For her, duty and honor had always come first. Love and personal happiness took a back seat compared to the chivalry hammered into her bones and etched onto her heart. She couldn't understand Clarissa's decision

"Do you regret it?" She asked, only because had she been in her shoes, she would've done it completely the other way.

The barracks' doors opened. Muffled chattering and tired laughter reached the duo's ears through the door. Wordlessly, they rose out of their seats. Aveline because she had to debrief the guardsmen after their shift; Clarissa because it was getting late.

Before opening the door, Clarissa put the bracer back in its rightful place on her right arm and looked long and hard on the eagle and the hawk etched on the steel.

_I will never, _ever, _leave you._

_ Ever._

She looked Aveline straight in the eye, and she smiled.

"Not one bit."


	6. Phoenix

The Lowtown market buzzed with activity as the midday sun shone relentlessly through the cracks of the sandstone buildings. Dizzying colours played with Clarissa's eyes as merchants lining the hexagonal square flashed scarves and spread open weaves of fabric. Breathing in deeply, she caught the scent of dozens of cheap fragrances worn by the numerous women browsing the stalls, the varying smells banding together to form an overpowering tide of sensation for Clarissa's nostrils. The sound of gemstones clinking against each other blotted out all other sound from Clarissa's ears, save for the hearty laugh of the woman beside her.

Clarissa had chanced upon Isabela as she walked past the Hanged Man on the way to the market. From the looks of her, Isabela had been up all night, doing Maker knows what. Yet despite her obviously hungover countenance, Isabela still managed to draw every pair of male eyes on the street to her. Whispers and whistles trailed her as she joined Clarissa at the door, which reminded Clarissa of Isabela's nickname.

"The Pirate Queen", they called her.

A queen with sparkling, hazel eyes that entranced countless men and women, be it after a rather... eventful night, or before she slit their unfortunate throats;

A queen with shoulder-length raven hair that accentuated her uncanny agility as well as her brazen sexuality, framing her oval face and flying free in the wind under her red bandana, as if daring those who looked on to catch her;

A queen with a voluptuous body that men desire and women envy, curvaceous and flowing at the neck, drawing one's eyes towards her more... prominent features beneath her simple white vest, cut low at the chest for a quick transition from white to a coppery brown, divided only by a tantalizing line that was enhanced by her black leather corset;

A queen graced with toned, muscular arms that told of her skill in battle as well as her time spent taming the seas, as if reining it in with her own slim, delicate fingers, which were equally proficient at undoing dresses and wielding daggers. Long, nimble legs clad in tight leggings showed off her form-fitting curves, cutting off at just the right height to reveal her upper thighs and imposing no hindrance to her movement, enabling her to move swiftly and silently, dashing to and fro in her matching black leather boots.

In fights, Isabela was an agile, deadly fighter, one who was not afraid to employ underhanded tactics so that she could have the final laugh. Her curved, glistening daggers were a menace to her enemies, the speed and accuracy of its strikes unparalleled. Couple that with Isabela's uncanny ability to confuse her quarries of her whereabouts, leaving them bewildered as her blades went through their chests before their swords left their sheaths, Isabela was a force to be reckoned with, especially when she's beginning to enjoy the fight.

When the blades were sheathed, however, Clarissa found Isabela to be the biggest sack of fun around Kirkwall, with every minute spent laughing and clapping each others' backs in futile attempts to stem the tide of guffaws and snickers. Isabela was also a very able drinker, a trait she claimed to have procured while on her ship, the Siren's Call. "They just want to see me naked, but I always end up seeing them naked first." She had joked about it while telling Clarissa about the good old days. Wherever Isabela went, she always carried with her a crisp, fresh scent of the open ocean, and the sound of her assorted golden accessories clinking together was deceptively akin to the waves lapping at the shore, smooth and flowing, yet sharp enough so you could recognize it instantly.

Every aspect of her painted a liberal, carefree image of the Pirate Queen, like an eagle soaring high above the waves, looking on the shifting waters with ease and confidence, knowing that it all belonged to her.

Clarissa felt the scarf she had bought just minutes ago brush against her arm, smooth and slightly tickling her. She brought the red scarf up into the sunlight, struggling to find a patch as she and Isabela descended into Darktown. She never had a good eye about clothes. Why wear blouses and dresses when you can wear armor? Ah, well, damn the Orlesians for their fine silks. If it weren't for that merchant with the fake accent flashing that red silk around, she wouldn't have thought about Bethany's scarf, which had been torn on Sundermount when it snagged onto one of the plates the Revenant wore as armor. She had seen Bethany trying to mend the hole, but it still left a nasty scar on the fabric, a faint line visible to anyone who looked close enough. Clarissa looked a lot closer than that.

Isabela caught her dreamy look as she ran her hands over the scarf and chuckled. "You two are just inseparable, you know that?" She said, "I've seen more than my fair share of sisters ogling after a single deckhand I once had on my crew. Fought each other with tooth and nails for him. They both stowed aboard of their own accord, one hiding in the pig pens, another in a crate." She laughed at the memory. "Imagine their surprise when they saw each other."

"What did you do?" Clarissa asked, partly amused by the story and partly provoked to thought. Her feelings weren't that different, if not a tad more complicated to handle. A tiny, tiny tad.

"What I did? They needed to be taught a lesson, so I took them to my quarters and... educated them in a ladylike fashion." Isabela's eyes turned a shade darker, as it often did. "Not that it wasn't fun, but those girls were... a handful." She laughed and winked at Clarissa. "If you get my meaning..."

Clarissa's mildly depressed train of thought was offset by that, and she grinned and shook her head. She could never match Isabela for her seemingly endless supply of jests, particularly those of a milder nature.

As they walked side by side, trading stories and laughing all the while, the usually deserted streets of Darktown became packed with people. They were many and varied, ranging from men with limbs twisted at unnatural angles to women with swollen bellies and faces contorted in pain.

"Just another day at the clinic." Clarissa sighed and sat down on the curb, gazing at the crowd massed at the entrance of Ander's clinic. Bethany had told her happily that she was going to study creation magic under Anders that morning, and hopefully cure some puppies in the process. "That's an awful lot of homework." Clarissa murmured as Isabela, ever impatient, struck up a conversation with a man Clarissa never knew she knew.

It was a good two hours until the crowd cleared, and Clarissa rose from her hunched position with a grunt. She untied the red Orlesian scarf from her right wrist, letting it fly free in the evening breeze that graced Darktown at just the right time. The last of the patients filed away as Clarissa saw through the doors into the well-lit lounge of the clinic.

Anders was there, and so was Bethany. Both were focused on a little boy no older than ten, who was lying on a table, face ghastly white. Bethany stood over him, hands illuminated by the green creation magic she was employing. Anders stood beside her, hands crossed, watching Bethany intently as a teacher would a promising pupil, close to observe but never too close to cause discomfort. Clarissa watched as Bethany adjusted the flow of the magic slightly, blanketing the child in a green glow. The boy stiffened and squirmed at the change, and Clarissa saw Anders tense.

Sensing an improper technique in Bethany's spellcasting, Anders quickly rushed to her side, taking hold of her hands and redirecting them. The distance between them closed, and Clarissa saw Anders' body sidle close to Bethany's.

Bethany visibly flinched at his unexpected intrusion, eyes snapping ever so slightly to Anders, but flashing back to her spell immediately as Anders corrected her mistake. As the boy's grimace softened, Bethany's poise relaxed somewhat, and she cast a grateful glance at Anders for his mentoring. Anders smiled back, and at the distance from which Clarissa was staring at them, she thought she saw a glint in his eye as their gazes parted.

A surge of emotions roiled in Clarissa, focusing her attention on the mages, now hefting the boy off the table and onto the dirt-packed floor. Uncommon anger burned in her veins as she watched Anders put a hand on Bethany's shoulder, commending her skills. It was a simple enough gesture, one made from a mentor to his star pupil. Nevertheless, it froze Clarissa in a cold rage she never thought she possessed. She felt blood rush to her cheeks and her jaw lock in place. Her hands clenched in a vain attempt to disperse the urge to draw her blade and slice apart the very air between them.

_You're overthinking it. It's just a gesture. And a friendly one at that. _A voice in her head cautioned, obviously displeased at her lack of control.

Yet no one has been that close to her sister before. No one, outside of her family, has ever come so close to Bethany without getting past her. No one has ever taken Bethany's hand in her own as she had; No one has ever planted soft, comforting kisses on Bethany's brow as she cried, balking in terror at the storms battering at their window.

Revisiting images flowed without inhibition before Clarissa's eyes, overpowering her normally logical and reasonable demeanor. She tried to avert her gaze, to ebb the tides of thought that threatened to blossom out of control. She couldn't.

The inevitable truth was that with each passing day, her picturing of herself as an older sister faded bit by bit. Looking back, she had always felt a need, an obligation to be her younger sister's shield, her protection against the perils they faced. What replaced it was far more feral, far more emotional, a Clarissa Hawke splintered from her soul and painted crimson by her aching heart.

With her watchful eyes, she had cautioned away many a young suitor, for fear that they might discover Bethany's hidden talent.

With her enviable frame and lovely features, she had charmed many a templar into ignoring the nervous, twitching maiden behind her back, closing the door then holding Bethany tight in reassurance. She had done all those things to protect her, to safeguard her from the world. Now, she wasn't sure if it was just her wanting to keep her Bethany all to herself.

A sense of betrayal surfaced in Clarissa's mind, of Bethany's and hers, overwhelming her and drowning her last rational thought.

Many a summer had Clarissa watched amusedly as her father, Malcolm Hawke, patiently schooled a young and eager girl as she lit her first flame, froze her first puddle and grew her first sapling. She had always walked over and taken Bethany into her arms, hugging her tightly as a warm congratulation.

Many a night had Clarissa tiptoed to Bethany's side to find her head buried between the pages of a certain tome, soft breathing and lidded eyes fluttering as if reliving what she had read. Smiling, Clarissa would always bring a chair and a blanket next to her, draping the warm fabric over her in a way only she know, a way that would not wake her.

Not only was Anders replacing her as a mentor, he was replacing her father as well. _Perhaps it's time. _The voice of reason broke through. Growling, Clarissa pushed it away, hiding it in the depths of her jumbled thoughts. Returning her gaze to the clinic, she saw Anders and Bethany engaged in conversation, grinning and laughing as they gathered up leftover herbs and poultices. The sight of them sharing the mirth in their eyes made her blood boil in red hot rage and her heart hammer in indignant protest.

_No one else can make her laugh. Except me. _She thought. She felt herself letting go of her sanity and agreeing with the throbbing screams of her heart.

_No one else can hold her in their arms. Except me. _She thought. Just thinking the words felt good, like her wayward heart had finally found the missing shard it had yearned for for so long.

She felt herself moving forward, her legs developing a mind of their own. Her heart was winning, wrestling her failing mind for control and beating it back as she took a step. Then another. Her eyes, originally wild and unfocused, regained its determination and her blurred vision became clear, revealing a startling image that brought her heart to her throat.

Bethany was on her tiptoes, leaning forward as she pressed an appreciative kiss to Anders' cheek, giggling as his stubble tickled her lips, which moved as she spoke. Whether she was thanking him or flirting with him, Clarissa could not tell. She did not care. Tears flooded her eyelids, threatening to break her. Strength left her limbs, leaving her feeling vulnerable and defeated. The red silk scarf she had held in her hands for so long feel unceremoniously onto the dirt as her hands went numb.

She kissed him.

_Why?_

_ Maker, why?_

Her heart broken, Clarissa turned to see Isabela watching intently, eyes flashing between her and the duo, now separating to tidy the rest of the clinic. The myriad emotions coursing through her must have been obvious. Isabela went to her side and lead her to a nearby alleyway as the first tears broke through her defenses.

Slender arms encircled Clarissa as she cried, much like Bethany used to cry in her own arms. Isabela, unsure of what to do, simply ran her hand up and down Clarissa's back in a vain attempt to stem the tide of sobs and moans. Tremors racked Clarissa's body as she cried, the walls of discipline and strength she had put around her collapsing, revealing her true self to the world. Pain dominated her senses, throbbing and pulsating in her head, in her chest, and in her shattering heart.

In all her time with Bethany, she had never thought of this moment, this moment where her grown-up, mature younger sister would finally leave her side. She had never prepared for such an eventuality, and it struck her like a hammer blow to the chest.

_She had watched as Bethany leaned on their tree, sound asleep, eyelids fluttering, lips soundlessly smiling. She had planted a kiss on her forehead as dawn approached, as the day they had dreaded came to be. She was off to join the King's army, and it may very well have been their last night together._

_ Her heart had taken over, and she had leaned forward, and pressed her lips against Bethany's, conveying what words could not, confessing what she could not. Although there was no response, the tentative contact had been enough to make Clarissa's heart flutter, her cheeks redden, and every bone in her body melt. In a single touch, she revealed everything she had tried so hard to keep hidden. In a single kiss, she bade her what may have been her final farewell. She had felt Bethany's lips slowly part, and realized that she had been smiling._

_ Did she know?_

_ Watching as Bethany stood on her tiptoes, the lips only she had touched meeting Anders' skin. Seeing her smile reflected in Anders' smile, merry and guileless. The single act, reserved for her, and her alone, given to another._

_ Why?_

"You're not weeping in joy, are you? Because if you are, this thing doesn't make sense at all." Isabela said, sighing in relief as Clarissa removed her head from her shoulder.

"It... It's nothing." Clarissa said, trying to mask her emotions. Isabela cocked her head and smiled mischeviously. "Oh no you don't, Hawke. I've been around enough heartbroken people to tell that there's more between the two of you than you let on." Isabela said, and it struck Clarissa that she might have witnessed a lot of similar outbursts.

"Really. It's nothing. I just need to be alone for a while." Clarissa forced out, even though her body and soul yearned to let it all out, to confide in someone before she lost control and exploded. Isabela shrugged at that, feigning nonchalance but unable to contain the sparkle in her eye. Clarissa felt her trailing behind as she exited the alley, turned her back to Anders' clinic, and started walking. She didn't notice her boot trampling over the red silk scarf lying on the dirt.

In the dark alleyway, the shadows themselves moved, materializing into figures with naked blades and nocked arrows.

Moving as one, they headed towards to clinic, where scant laughter and giggling could still be heard.

/Hello there.

A particularly tricky chapter, I might say. I hope I presented it well, but I digress.

Yes. It's a cliffhanger. Yes. Not everyone likes it. But what better way to pique your interest? Wait, pretend I didn't say that.

I am truly and heartily sorry if the updates and new chapters are coming slower than usual, but the drug overdose known as school has finally kicked in and I am swimming in homework.

Hope you've enjoyed the angsty ride so far. Keep reading and R&R!/


	7. Blood Oath

Clarissa felt it before she heard it, the air contracting and folding into itself, rushing past her, down the flight of stairs, into Darktown. The peculiar direction taken by the sudden wind dislodged her still-grieving mind and alarmed her.

She had felt it before, during those chance encounters with bandits and highwaymen on the Wounded Coast, in the dark warrens of Lowtown, and on the cobbled streets of Hightown when the stroke of midnight had fallen. She could almost picture the sight by memory alone, by the memory of the iridescent globe of flames gathering at Bethany's waiting hands, of the barely restrained fury of the crackling magic.

_Magic._

Then she heard it. The fiery explosion of impact. The unwarranted screams of burning men, and the screams of terror of apparent onlookers. Clarissa heard the clash of steel on wood, and the twang of bowstrings from deep within the abandoned mining section of Darktown, echoing and bringing her reeling mind back into focus. The unnatural sound of magical discharge added an odd tempo to the echoing cacophony of the starting battle.

_Magic._

Clarissa took off in a dead run down the stairs she had so slowly dragged herself up moments before, mind sharp with anxious energy and heart wrenched in sickening worry. Isabela pouted, sighed, and fell in step.

Bethany flashed her eyes around her, the full wrath of her abilities coalescing in her hands. She felt Anders by her side, bright cracks in his body signifying the resurgence of a being far more terrible than the humans and dwarves surrounding him and Bethany could comprehend. Unholy rage and an odd echo coloured his voice as he snarled, and Bethany felt Mana channeled into her and into Justice as well, filling her with power. Her quarries brandished their daggers and fitted arrows to string, faces masked save for their eyes. Bethany felt their wary gazes pass over her hands, where fire and ice placed themselves obediently on each palm, running a line of white flame on her staff and coating her other arm in an icy haze. Sensing their fear, she allowed herself a moment of bloodthirsty pride before reining her emotions back in. She can't lose control. Not now. Not against such pathetic-

A figure detached itself from the line of men and women surrounding the two mages, visibly shorter than a normal human. He held a broad axe in his hands, hefting its enormous weight easily.

"Take them down." The dwarf said simply. The men converged, and the fight began.

Clarissa had her sword out as a line of men clad in tattered leather armor blocked her way. There were five of them in total, and they were vaguely coordinated, forming a human wall in the narrow passage that led to Anders' clinic, where the sounds of fighting persisted. The men drew their blades hesitantly, not wanting to break formation. Clarissa's eyes hardened into a look of icy death, radiating cold venom at each man in turn and gripping her sword tightly, preparing to batter her way through. Isabela drew up at her side, and put an unexpected hand on her sword arm, holding it down.

"They're here to hold you off." She whispered into Clarissa's ear, and the defensive posture made sense to her immediately.

They were ordered by whoever sent them to keep Clarissa out of the fight, to delay her until they were finished with Anders and Bethany, both of whom do not stand a chance in such close quarters. She had to get to the clinic as fast as she could.

"I'll take care of them. Go." Isabela vanished in a whirl of black smoke before the last syllable left her lips. Quick as lightning, she rematerialized behind the leftmost swordsman in the line and snapped his reeling neck with breathtaking efficiency while burying a dagger in the throat of the man beside her first victim, the reddened edge reappearing below his chin. She laughed mockingly at the remaining men, who edged away from their fallen comrades, opening up a doorway which Clarissa slipped through.

As she picked up her pace again, dashing down another flight of stairs, she heard Isabela chuckle and say, "Who's next?"

Bethany let the magic take the reins of her body, feeling her reflexes sharpen and her vision narrow. Growling, she let the flames overrun her staff, bathing the unblemished wood in a fiery glow as she brought it twirling over her head, sidestepping a wayward thrust and bringing the staff-blade down on her aggressor's head. She felt her heart leap as the steel helm melted under the intense heat and the blade sank into the man's skull, not even needing to draw blood as he fell dead. Bethany didn't wait for his limp corpse to drop, though, as she took charge of her momentum, deflecting an arrow with a swipe of her hand and sending a bolt of ice-cold energy towards the lone archer who shot her. A blast of cold air greeted her glistening sheen of sweat as the archer was frozen from head to toe, the magical property of the bolt permeating the very fiber of his being. Blocking an upward cleave with her staff, Bethany shattered the hapless victim with a blast of physical force.

Justice blazed with righteous fire as he channeled his power better than any mage ever could. A wall of fire surrounded his body as he loosed lance after lance of blue flame. The force of the attacks stopped swordsmen in their tracks while setting lesser men aflame.

A frenzy of blue light danced on the walls as he wrought an almost impenetrable defense with pure magic.

More men dropped from perches and rooftops of the Darktown shacks. Bethany's heart sank, but she forced herself to maintain her composure as her aggressors circled her. She felt Justice being forced away, separated from her by a line of men. Fear gripped her as she realized the gravity of her position.

She was surrounded.

Clarissa sped with all she had, but the clinic seemed leagues away. Sporadic swordsmen barred her way, but she used the tight walls to her advantage, leaping off walls and dodging arrows as she landed punches and backhand swipes that cracked bone and rent flesh, leaving half-dead men and women for Isabela to swiftly finish off.

As nimble and agile as a slinking cat, she avoided most her her opponents' attacks while dealing deathblows of her own, the unrelenting desire to reach Bethany ruling her senses, making her mind sharp and her limbs move as one.

_Bethany._

As stalwart and tough as a brick wall, she kept going despite the scores of men standing between her and her goal, shrugging off arrows and her growing fatigue. Her focus never shifted, her determinate fire never waned as her eyes glazed over and her lips moved of its own accord, citing a mantra with one word, and one word alone.

_Bethany._

Following the lanterns, Clarissa skidded to a halt as she entered the open space outside the clinic. The rearguard didn't stand a chance as Clarissa parried their blows with her steel-laden arm, forcibly wrenching their swords from their hands with her hardened leather gauntlets, then impaling them with her sword. Face now stained with blood, her burning eyes settled on a sight that made the flames waver and her blood go cold.

Dozens of men faced her, evenly spaced out and brandishing swords, daggers and bows of every make and origin. Bethany was at the center, with fear coating her eyes and a dagger pressed to her throat. Her staff lay on the ground, far from her reach. Anders was further away, subdued by two men and burning with fury. Clarissa took it all in, and she had to force herself not to move and to loosen her bloodthirsty grip on her sword. One false twitch, and the dagger would move sideways and carve a bloody path across Bethany's throat.

A dwarf detached himself out of the throngs of men that surrounded Bethany and rubbed his hands together in mock excitement. An enormous axe rested on his back, the wide blade jutting out above his head in a ferocious display of brute strength.

"Perfect. It would seem our bait has worked!" He addressed the masked men and women, who all laughed and flexed their blades and bows. As if on cue, another group of men filed in behind Clarissa, blocking the path from which she had come from. The trap has been sprung. She was the prey.

"What do you want?" Clarissa said, trading venomous glances with the men that surrounded her, assessing the situation for something she could take advantage of.

There was none.

The dwarf chuckled and pointed a gloved finger at Clarissa. "You, darlin'. You're the one we want, and here you are." He sneered, radiating vicious malice. He was gloating, basking in his victory, and Clarissa didn't care. She only wanted the dagger on Bethany's throat removed. Only then could she worry about driving her blade into the dwarf's sneering, condescending mouth. "My sister has nothing to do with this. Let her go, and I come willingly." Clarissa said. Although her inner self pictured blood on the walls, on her sword, and running on her fingers, Bethany had to be safe before all that came to be.

The dwarf laughed and cast a glance at Bethany. "Let her go? Why, Hawke, you are sorely mistaken." He said as he drew a wicked-looking dagger from his belt. The blade caught the dim light and glinted dangerously as it pointed towards Bethany. "In the end of a hunt," He said, moving towards the subdued Bethany with slow, deliberate steps.

"Bait is discarded."

It didn't take long for the dagger to reach its target, as it sheathed itself through the white tunic, the light chainmail underneath and into Bethany's chest.

Clarissa's heart flared with pain as Bethany let out a strangled cry, going limp as the man holding her let go. She lay sprawled on the dirt, blood pooled around her, and she vainly raised her head. Her eyes lost their light as they met Clarissa's, and Clarissa felt her pain, her despair, her life ebbing away as she blacked out.

_Bethany._

Clarissa felt her strength leave her, her blood freeze, and her senses go numb. Her sword dropped from her fingers, and her heart broke as it clattered to the ground.

_Bethany._

The dwarf gazed at the pool of blood, seemingly fascinated by it. Clarissa's eyes landed upon the spreading crimson, and she felt tears welling in her eyes.

_This __can't __be __happening._

Clarissa's heart mirrored Bethany's as it bled, losing strength and dying. The fire that once burned in her limbs, fueled her desire and ruled her mind was gone, gone when the dagger plunged into her heart, gone when her eyes met hers, one last time.

_I __have __failed __her._

She had been afraid for so long. Afraid to embrace what she had tried to hide since she first saw her, what she could no longer contain in the shattering confines of her heart. She had been afraid to confess, even though nothing could have held her back.

And now she's gone.

She's gone, and she was to blame.

"That's right, Hawke. You can't fight now. You belong to the Carta now." The dwarf laughed. Clarissa's eyes shot back up, looking him squarely in the eye, and she saw him blanch.

She had come too late, and it was her fault.

She was somehow the target, and it was her fault that Bethany had been involved.

She had failed her, and it was her fault.

"No." Hatred replaced her grief, rushing through her in a torrent, rejuvenating her with white-hot anger. Her hands found her sword, and she felt a surge of power flow through her, making her alive despite her broken heart. She closed her eyes, and allowed rage to take over her senses, and anger to control her. Unnatural strength fueled her, and she gripped her sword tightly while her bracer's spiked backhand flexed in unrestrained fury.

What happened next was a blur even Clarissa could not recall.

She dodged and weaved, slashed and parried, swung and blocked, punched and feinted, leaped and slid at the same time, moving at a breakneck pace, bolstered by her unnatural strength. She flitted from one dead swordsman to another dying archer, moving with inhuman speed, attacking with savage blows. Her bloodlust clouded her vision, and her mind couldn't move fast enough to comprehend what her body had done.

She laced every blow with her anger, proclaiming to the world of her failure and venting her hatred on her quarries.

All the while, tears flowed freely from her eyes, leaving trails of liquid diamonds flying through the air as she screamed her grief and wept for her loss.

_Bethany._

It was her fault for holding back, for not arriving in time, and they had to pay for it.

The walls were drenched in blood, with new additions made with each swing. Red liquid ran down the length of her blade, making sheathing it in her opponents all the easier. Drops of blood splattered on her face but didn't care, not even when it entered her eyes and added to the tears that were already falling.

It kept falling even after it was over, even after she brought her fist through the horror-stricken dwarf's chest, strange crackles coming from the hollow cavity that once housed his heart.

_Recompense __for __my __torn __heart._

As her mind regained its clarity, Clarissa recognized Bethany among the numerous corpses that lay on the floor. She rushed to her side, cradling her and pressing her blood-soaked fingers to her neck, checking for the telltale signs of life that may still preside.

There was none.

"Bethany, no. NO. You cannot die, not yet. Not unless I say so!" Clarissa cried, sobs mingling with her words. Her mind was reeling, she wasn't making sense, but she didn't care.

"Please, Bethany! You can't leave me here like this!" She cried again, but there was no miraculous breath of life, no sudden opening of the eyes. There was just Bethany, her one love, dying in her arms.

And still, she was afraid to go there. To utter those three words that would condemn her, that would finally eradicate her inhibitions and set her free.

_I __love __you, __Bethany. _Was that enough? Wasn't that enough?

Tears washed away the blood on her face as Clarissa despaired, unable to defeat death.

"I love you, Bethany." She said, admitting it to the world. She was no longer afraid. She just wanted Bethany back. She just wanted to hold her in her arms again, to kiss her and love her until her heart was spent, to do what she never had the nerve to do.

"I love you, Bethany." Clarissa begged. To the Maker, to the gods, to any who would listen.

Clarissa felt her fingers move of their own accord, feeling a slight jump in Bethany's neck. A pulse.

"She's still alive. Barely." Anders appeared next to her, dazed and utterly spent. "I placed a Life Ward spell on her. As long as my strength maintains, she'll be alive." He said, fatigue slowing his words. Clarissa wept tears of joy, thanking the Maker profusely and hurriedly tearing out a strip of her tunic to wrap around Bethany's wound, which Anders sealed with a weary wave of his hand. He visibly paled from the effort, and it was only from sealing the wound. What lay underneath was still unfixed.

"Transfer it to me. You can't hold out for much longer. Take the energy from me instead." Clarissa said, bearing responsibility once again.

_I'll __keep __you __alive, Bethany__._

Anders shook his head. "It has to be between two mages. You will have to bind your soul with hers if you want to attempt such a thing." He said, "Her spirit is wandering in the Fade right now, and Justice is helping me restrain her from going too far. A normal human cannot do that, unless you wish to bind yourself to her forever, which is exceedingly dangerous for the both of you."

Clarissa looked into his eyes, burning with resolve and the new emotion she set free. If she must be one with her, then so be it. It may even not be such a bad thing.

_I __love __you, __Bethany, __and __I __will __do __anything and everything __it __takes __to __save __you._

"Do it."

/Aaaannnndddd abrupt CLIFFHANGAR. Yeah I know, I hate it too. But it just seems so appropriate. This just came off the top of my head, so please excuse my poor logic and unproofed words. Feedback on fightscenes? I feel like I screwed up but can't find where. Moar and bettar chapters abound. *mutters unintelligible curses about moving and unpacking taking up all my time*

Let's hope nothing burns in the reviews, eh? But do please R&R!/


	8. Seeker

The dim light from red lanterns reflected off Clarissa's longsword as she swung herself round. Upon her entrance into the Fade, she found herself standing in an empty hall. Her initial cries for Bethany had reverberated endlessly down the ornate hallway, mocking her efforts with dwindling echoes that eroded her confidence and aggravated her anxiety.

_Every __moment __I __waste __in __this __labyrinth __of __a __world __is __a __moment __that __could __tear __Bethany __away __from __me._She gritted her teeth, trying to shake away the voice that spoke of her worst fears, the visions that plagued her with her most unthinkable nightmares. She took off at a dead run, choosing a random direction. Maker be damned, why did every lantern look the same?

Her steel-toed boots hammered the ground as she ran, eyes scanning intently for a slight change in scenery around her. There were none. The Fade was toying with her, toying with the mortal and her ill-fated pursuit. The hallways were straight and narrow as Clarissa sped past them, all of them uniform in appearance and mocking in demeanor. Clarissa began to wonder if she was running in circles.

Her anxiety gave way to anger, a red-hot fire that burned along with her unyielding desire to find Bethany. Her hands clenched of their own accord as she growled in frustration.

_Clack._

The sound of heels impacting the marble floor reverberated through the hallway, making Clarissa swirl around and her unnoticed torches cast dancing lights on the walls.

_Clack._

The exaggerated footsteps carried a hollow echo to them, growing louder and louder as a silhouette of a figure emerged at the far end of the passage. It was hard to tell, but Clarissa could tell that it, or rather _she,_had a feminine profile. The shadow moved with languid grace, with a hint of seductiveness that affected Clarissa even though she was still some ways away.

"My greetings to you, _mortal_." A voice rang out and the lanterns flanking Clarissa, as if on cue, flared to life and illuminated the entire hallway. Holding back a gasp, Clarissa gazed upon the origin of the voice.

A woman stood before her, a fiery purple flame masking her hair. Horns protruded out of the sides of her head, curving and tantalizing. Sculpted features had the woman's face twisted in a brazen smile, one that oozed sensuality and passion. Dark, purple eyes flashed knowingly in the brightly-lit corridor, reflecting the crimson light of the lanterns in its infinite depths. As Clarissa gazed upon the creature before her, she found her limbs weakening, her mind wavering and her focus slipping.

The creature did little to disguise her seductive charms, wearing only a golden necklace with a line of chains just about covering its nipples, leaving little to the imagination. The gleam of gold complemented the soft, wavy curves the creature possessed, bringing contour to the otherwise silken violet skin. A simple cloth draped over the folds of its legs, ends flowing in the wind, as if tempting Clarissa to tug them free. Unwillingly, Clarissa steeled herself against the alluring sight, even as her eyes began drowning themselves in those bottomless purple flames.

"Where is my... sister...?" Clarissa asked feebly, the stern and adamant tone she had hoped to employ fading away before it reached her lips. Her heart fluttered in unbridled desire as the demon laughed softly, weaving a haunting melody with her amusement. Clarissa felt her mind go blank as the demon gazed directly into her, as if wrenching her deepest wants and desires and stoking them. Thoughts of Bethany began to ebb away, replaced by an overpowering flame Clarissa only felt when Bethany was close to her. No other being had been able to provoke such passion within her, and she craved more.

_More._

"It is what you want, no?" The demon said, chuckling when words refused to leave Clarissa's mouth. Clarissa felt her defenses melting under the demon's piercing gaze, folding to a lance of red-hot fire. Her grip on her sword loosened, and the glistening steel hung limply by her side as if forgotten.

Her thoughts screamed for her to snap out of it, to strike down the foul temptress that was befuddling her mind, yet her limbs, her strength were no longer her own. "It is... Bethany that I want. Not... not you..." She managed. A flash of incomprehensible emotion crossed the demon's eyes, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Smiling lasciviously, it began to walk forward, freezing Clarissa in place, enthralling her with her movement alone. "Oh, but I can give you that. I can give you _her,_ and so much more." The demon cooed, closing the distance slowly, but surely. "I can make her love you more than she ever did or will. I can allow the both of you to be together until the end of time." The demon smiled again, desire oozing from its unfathomable eyes, dark promises flowing like honey from its lips.

"It is what you want, no?"

Clarissa almost lurched forward as the demon stopped in front of her, face inches away from her. A rush of air, hot and smooth, caressed Clarissa's face in a delicate way, setting fire to her senses. "Yes..." She murmured as her eyes glazed over in an unexpected wave of pleasure.

The demon's smile widened, its expression taking on wicked triumph. Its hand reached out slowly, like a tendril snaking its way forward, like a claw waiting to clamp on its target. After centuries of waiting, its chance to experience the mortal realm has finally come.

Or so it had thought.

Clarissa's bracer, long forgotten at her side, flared to life at the proximity of the demon's touch. A blast of pain filled Clarissa's senses, making her concentration on the demon waver.

_I'll __do __anything __it __takes __to __save __you._

Clarissa's mind exploded with memories, swatting away the demon's influence like leaves before a thunderstorm. There, in the dark and confused confines of her mind, she spotted a woman standing in the darkness. A strange sensation embraced her as she gazed upon the woman, a feeling that told her she was somehow important.

_Remember __this __seal, __and __know __that __I __will __always __be __there, __and __I __will __never,_ever_, __leave __you._

As her mind's eye shook itself clear of the lingering taint from the demon's antics, Clarissa noticed that despite the dim light, the woman's eyes were clear, soft and outstandingly brown. Clarissa gritted her teeth as she tried to remember who she was.

_I __love __you..._

_ Maker, who is she?_

Then it came to her, lighting up her eyes like fire.

_I __love __you, __Bethany._

_ Bethany._

Bethany.

Clarissa blinked, regaining control and taking steps back to distance herself with the demon in front of her. As her senses came back to her, she saw her surroundings as they really were, actually barren and flat like an abandoned patch of land, untended and forgotten.

_It __was __all __a __trick._

Clarissa looked at the demon with newfound understanding. She saw her, _it,_as it truly were – A being of desire, governed by desire and wielding it at the same time. It had played upon her desires, and had nearly won.

_Never __again, __demon._

Clarissa's hand tightened on her sword, and her bracer rose from its abandoned position to her front, its seal gleaming brightly with unnatural light.

"Wretched _mortal_! You could've had everything you hoped for, everything you desired; and yet you spurn my offers, resist my temptations at every turn." The demon spat, its own unsated desire driving her anger.

"You offer deceit only, demon. Release my sister, or I lay you open." Clarissa said, menace colouring her words. Unnatural strength running through her veins, aided by her gleaming right arm that shone with the fury of the sun itself.

The demon laughed scornfully, throwing her head back in a mocking fashion. "You, _mortal_? Lay me open? I think not." It said, pulsating balls of pitch black coalescing in her rising hands. "This is my realm, _mortal._My power reigns supreme in this accursed world, and with it, I shall take your body as mine own. The mortal world shall be mine, whether you desire it,"

Men and women of varying appearances rose from the dry dirt, some still retaining their flesh, others completely rotten and decomposed. They shambled mindlessly, utterly subservient to their desire, even in death.

"Or not." The demon finished.

_Anything __it __takes._

Clarissa charged, sword up, into the ranks of the horde now massed in front of its mistress. The razor-sharp talons of her bracer carved bloody lines across dozens of bodies, eliciting keens of pain from the corpses. Nails dragged their way across her breastplate, screeching in high pitches and leaving deep gouges that bespoke their force. Snarling, Clarissa steeled herself against the distracting gashes and scratches from the undead, knowing that they were only trying to block her way. Focusing her strength on her sword arm, she swung her sword clear of the grasping hands and brought it around her in an arc, decapitating several corpses in one fell stroke. As if influenced by her unerring resolve and her unshakable anger, translucent blue flames began to run along the length of the blade, mirroring similar globes of fire that burned brightly in her violet eyes. She allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction as the horde around her backed away from the ferocity of the attack, falling like wheat before a scythe.

The demon vanished with a puff of smoke, only to re-emerge on top of a slight elevation in the Fade's barren landscape. "Such _power. _My, but it will make my time in your realm all the more... _desirable._" It laughed, crossing her arms as if daring Clarissa to come forward.

Clarissa brandished her sword at the demon's statement. Power ran through her veins, anger coursed through her mind, and her heart burned with singular intensity. From where she stood, it was a good twenty feet between her and the demon. Even in her impatience to sheath her blade in the demon's body, she knew that charging up that knoll would be suicide.

The demon smiled at its quarry's apparent conundrum. Pleased to find itself with the upper hand, it called forth more of its minions to aid it, to form another wall of decaying flesh between it and its opponent. If all else fails, the magic inherent in its veins can still obliterate the unworthy mortal in one strike, but it would prefer to preserve her soul for more... devious ideas it had in its head. Yes, this one would make a fine thrall, indeed...

Clarissa moved. And vanished.

"What..." The demon's eyes furrowed in confusion and sudden incomprehension. How could she disappear before its very eyes?

"Crafty... little-" Its next word was cut off by a choked cry as a shadow appeared beside it, and plunged her blade straight through its chest.

"Mortal?" Clarissa suggested, twisting her blade to elicit another strangled scream from the dying creature. "It's a trick we _mortals _learned, to move without being seen. I'll bet you haven't seen anything of the sort, being trapped in this dull realm." Clarissa breathed softly down the creature's neck, smiling as the demon struggled to form words out of its clogged throat. Purple ichor dripped along the blade's length, turned into a fine mist in the flickering blue flames as the demon's eyes slowly lost its gleam, and its own flames flickering in kind and dying. The golden chains on her body faded to dust, blown away like sand before a strong wind.

A wet squelch was heard as Clarissa unsheathed her blade from the demon's chest, followed by a dull thump as the demon sank to its knees, desperately clinging on the what life it had left. Clarissa would have none of it, though. Balling her bracer's razor-sharp talons into a tight fist, she looked down on the dying creature, at the dying creature once known as desire.

"Back to hell, _demon_."

Clarissa lashed out with a powerful backhand swipe, striking the demon sideways on its horns and pounding it into the ground. A blast of energy followed her blow, echoing through the Fade as one of its denizens fell to an outsider. As the dust settled and left Clarissa's eyes, she saw that the scenery had changed again.

Her boots were embraced by soft blades of green grass as she walked, waving in the cool night wind that permeated the clearing. The hypnotic movement of the grass reminded Clarissa of a long-forgotten dream, of a place she had once known, but was forced to leave.

A lone tree stood in the middle of the clearing, the rustling of its leaves like music to Clarissa's ears. Stars above her head twinkled in blissful regularity, complementing the moon in its full, round form. If it weren't for the Black City floating in the distance, Clarissa could've sworn she was sent back in time, to the place she had longed for for almost two years.

"Consider this my gift to you, Hawke." A voice echoed in her head, a familiar, young voice whose owner she had met not too long ago. Since their acquaintance, all of Clarissa's dreams were contently happy, and not a single nightmare plagued her. Even the memories of Carver coalesced into blissful reminders of their time together, and Clarissa knew that it was him to thank for.

_Feynriel? _Clarissa thought.

"Indeed. That particular demon has badgered me for months now, and thanks to you, her annoying voice is finally gone." Feynriel said, and Clarissa could almost picture his relief at the tone of his words. "But enough of me, what do you think of the scene? It's something I've been working on for some time." He asked, referring to the lush meadows, the twinkling stars, and the lone tree she had described to him once.

_It's __everything __I __hoped __it __would __be. __Thank __you, __Feynriel. _Clarissa answered, grateful for the little things he did and at the same time anxious to see Bethany again.

Feynriel chuckled at her compliment. "Is that all? Ah, well, don't let me keep you. She's right over there."

A smooth breeze, like the point of a finger, drew Clarissa towards the tree, where a figure could be seen with her knees up to her chest, head buried between them. Even from afar, Clarissa could not miss the softly wavy black hair, and the red silk scarf that could barely be seen around her neck.

_Bethany._

Clarissa started forward.

/This does not qualify as a cliffhanger! Nonononono it does not. A quick shoutout to the people who read my pieces on anonymous accounts! Although I can't reply to your reviews, I most certainly appreciate them! And the ones with registered accounts too! Thank you soooooo much! Oh and badluck777 you're lucky I didn't throw almond-shaped into that last part right there loljk/


	9. Flames

Bethany blinked hard and took a deep breath of the crisp ocean air, trying to clear her mind of the events that happened just over a day ago.

_A __single __thought._

Images swam across her field of vision. Images of her, all alone, head between her knees, struggling hopelessly while a violet-clad creature teased her thoughts, enticed her emotions and tempted her every desire.

"She's coming. She has to be." She had muttered under her breath. The words that had anchored her will, sheltered her sanity and kept her alive.

_A __single __touch._

She had come for her in the eerie silence. The soft crunch of grass under her boots had carried over to Bethany's ears by the soft, rolling wind.

She had waited patiently. Bethany could tell by her steady breathing as she waited for her to have the courage to look up.

She had smiled when she finally lifted her head from her knees, tears rimming the violet-blue eyes that radiated relief. "It's you." Bethany had said, gaze landing on Clarissa's right arm, where

the still-glowing seal cast its silhouette on her face, hawk and eagle entwined in shifting white light.

"Who else would it be?" Clarissa had replied softly, tears spilling and marking a trail down her face, reflecting the light like a sparkling gem. "I keep my promises."

A twinge of pain had lanced its way through Bethany's body, making her gasp at the intensity and her hands clench in an effort to keep herself from screaming. A tidal wave of fatigue had followed, the slowing beats of her heart throbbing with agony with every movement.

Bethany had met Clarissa's gaze, and had seen the determination in her eyes burning like an unquenchable fire. Clarissa's hand had reached out, slowly, as if asking for her permission. Bethany had looked upon her sister, upon the one person who would always stand between her and the world, the one person who would die so that she could live, and she felt a single, pure emotion break through the pain and fill her bleeding heart.

"I love you, sister." Bethany had said, and her fingers touched Clarissa's softly.

_A __single __touch._

At that moment, both Bethany and Clarissa had felt uncommon magic rush through their veins, spurred by the single emotion that ran through their minds and their hearts. The seal on Clarissa's outstretched arm had dwarfed the sun as the Fade itself warped around the connected sisters, forging an irrevocable tie between their hearts.

_A __single __thought._

At that moment, Bethany's mind had melded with Clarissa's, revealing every thought, every emotion and every single thing Clarissa had ever experienced.

_The __duality __of __her __own __self __as __she __watched __her __sleep, __under __the __waving shades __they __both __knew __and __loved. __The __yearning __she __felt __as __she __struggled __with __herself, __struggling __not __to __press __her __lips __to __hers __and __make __her __irrevocably __hers._

_The __spear __of __jealousy __as __she __kissed __him __on __the __cheek, __under __the __light __of __the __flickering __lit __lanterns. __The __numbing __pain __that __followed, __lancing __straight __through __her __heart. __The __wet __feel __of __tears __running __down __her __cheeks __as __soft __arms __wrapped __around __her __in __comfort, __as __she __wept __for __the __one __thing __she __cherished __the __most __being __torn __from __her,__as __she __wept __for _her_._

Bethany winced at the intensity of the memory she experienced in her sister's mind, at her heart's twinging throbs complementing the heartbreak.

She had always wondered at the dreamy stares when she caught Clarissa looking at her without her knowing.

She had always wondered why Clarissa always tensed when she was near her, when she brushed up against her.

She had always wondered at the gasps Clarissa made when she embraced her, as if she wrapped her arms around her too tightly, which she did not.

At that moment, it had dawned upon her, accentuating itself with Clarissa's words.

"And I you, Bethany."

_And __I __you._

Bethany felt her now, as she had felt her presence ever since that moment when heart and soul became one. It had given her a sense of safety knowing that she was always nearby, and she had reveled in it. But now, she was afraid what such a binding tie would bring.

She loved Clarissa, that much was certain. She possibly loved her more than anyone else. In her mind, however, she was the older sister, the ceaseless guardian that was always there to defend her, the blameless companion that was always supportive of her. She was everything she could've hoped for in a sister, and the newfound emotions that she had revealed in Clarissa forced her to reforge her perspectives on her.

Clarissa _was_ beautiful, no doubt. Her striking violet-blue eyes radiated a constant vigil that awed and fascinated Bethany, a decidedly enrapturing set of gems she envied. Her own eyes, being a soft brown and comparatively more timid, were no match for the blazing resolve that burned behind Clarissa's eyes;

Clarissa's flame-red hair fell deliciously around her delicately sculpted face, accentuated by the blue tattoo she had over her right eye. Her own curls, jet-black and inconspicuous, lacked in charisma compared to the alluring sight that was her sister;

Clarissa's toned, well-defined physique had captivated Bethany whenever she laid eyes on it. Her sister's bronze skin showed off her womanly curves, making it a stunning spectacle even when encased in armor. Tough, swift and utterly sensual, it always managed to ignite a spark within a deep, dark corner of Bethany's consciousness, a spark that she vehemently hid and avoided. She herself was, to some degree, attractive as well, she knew that well enough from the coquettishly appreciative stares men frequently regarded her with. With Clarissa, however, she gave off a certain personal charm that Bethany could not match, a rugged beauty that she herself lacked.

"If only she wasn't my sister." Bethany wondered aloud, then berated herself for the direction of her thoughts. The Maker forbade such things, and rightly so. The Andrastian within her objected against such thoughts with a white-hot intensity that surprised her. _The __Chantry __law __forbids __it, __Bethany __Hawke. __Snap _out _of __it._

_ But __do __you _have _to? _A small voice echoed in her head, reminding Bethany of a certain violet-clad creature that had played on her needs, her _wants_, without reserve.

_It's __wrong._

_ Who says it's wrong?_

_ The Chantry does._

_ And is the Chantry infallible? Is the way they hunt your kind smiled upon by the Maker? Are their purges and their preemptive slaughter justified by an almost non-existent threat?_

Bethany shut her eyes and took a deep breath again. She didn't know she herself could be so... persuasive. The cool air failed to smother the smoldering fire in the bottom of her stomach, growing and growing as her face became flushed from the more... suggestive images that bubbled up in her mind.

_Violet-blue __eyes __darkening __with __desire. __Flame-red __hair __caught __in __her __fingers __as __she __runs __her __hand __through __her curls__.__Full __lips __only __an breath __away __from __her __own, __moving __hypnotically __as __she __whispered __a __name._

Her _name._

She could almost see the demon smiling, watching with amusement as she wrestled with herself.

_Struggle __if __you __wish, _mortal_. __Know __that _desire _always __triumphs __in __the __end._

"_Why_? Why do you torment me so?" She literally screamed, half addressing the demon, half calling to the person she had loved, and now _wanted_.

A single voice teased her in her head, soft, lilting and seductive. _'Tis __what __you __want, __no?_

Bethany's hand clenched uncontrollably. Icy blue magic converged at her enclosed palm, flickering in spasmodic twitches that bespoke her uncontrollable thoughts.

Turning around, she noticed a gaping dockworker staring openly at the nimbus of Mana gathered at her fore.

Eyes widening in alarm, she recomposed herself and left the dock in a hurry, leaving the teenaged boy staring after her in wonder.

In her haste, a confession broke through the resistance in her mind, as clear as a tolling bell.

_Yes._

Clarissa Hawke shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Anders continued his examination of her, his hand casting soft blue shadows on her outstretched arm.

"A normal human venturing into the Fade is dangerous enough." He had said, pulling Clarissa out of the Lowtown market and into his dimly-lit clinic. "Not to mention your encounter with the demon. I have to make sure it hasn't left a trace of itself in you in some way."

_It __certainly __got __to __me. _Clarissa thought as she reminisced the demon's words, marvelling with a guilty pang at how good the words felt when they left the seductress's mouth.

Indeed, the demon may have been playing on her infatuation to lower her guard, but she couldn't dispute that at that moment, she wanted to take everything it offered.

She wanted it.

She wanted _her._

Her mind wandering, she felt her eyes turn towards the docks, where she could almost see the jet-black hair flying in the wind. It felt like a constant star on the horizon, tugging at her wherever they were, however far apart they might be. She didn't notice Anders calling to her until he rapped his knuckles on the table.

"You're clear of any signs of demonic possession." He said, his brow furrowing as if her condition unnerved him.

"What's wrong?"

His eyes snapped from his reverie, and he shook his head wearily. "It's just that I find it hard to believe that you actually _killed _the demon." He murmured, hastily adding, "Ah, no offense."

"If it bleeds, it dies, right? Or does it work differently in the Fade?" Clarissa jokingly said.

"Demons are created by pure magic. Only magic can destroy them. Physical mortality in the Fade mean nothing to them. That's why only mages can survive in the Fade for prolonged periods of time. If you stab one with your sword or hit one with your arrow, they merely reincarnate."

"So they have to die by magic in a land of magic."

"That's essentially the point, yes."

"So? It's not dead, but it's gone."

Anders shook his head again. "With the close encounter you mentioned, the demon would have planted a shard of itself in you. Such is the way they hunt. Should their plans fail, they could rely on that fragment of their essence to gain possession."

"But it's not in me?"

"It is not."

"And that only occurs when..." Clarissa muttered, not liking the direction this discussion was headed.

"When the demon is dead."

"But you just said that I couldn't have killed it, not without magic."

"That's the problem." Anders tented his hands on the table, looking into Clarissa's eyes intently. The force of his gaze made Clarissa falter. _Where's__he__going__with__this?_

"Do you remember that moment outside the clinic, when Bethany was stabbed?" He asked, bluntly, as if not wanting to waste any time. Clarissa's heart flared with pain as the words reminded her of that split second, the split second where she almost lost everything.

_Pain._

_ Blood._

_ Regret._

_ Anger._

_ Pain._

She remembered her hands closing tightly around the hilt, her sorrow rending her in two and her anger taking her over. She remembered the overwhelming strength that ran through her veins and the heart-wrenching sorrow that pushed her anger to even greater heights.

The next moments were a blur, a gap of indiscernible void as she sprang into action. All she remembered was the blood lining the walls after the ordeal, and the satisfying crackle as she brought an end to the monster that almost took her sister away from her.

Other than that, she recalled nothing. She recalled nothing that spoke of her unnatural feat, taking on dozens of warriors by herself, and emerging unscathed. She was proficient with a blade, that much she could say about herself with confidence. But even as she tried to remember what she did, she felt a slight, unexpected twitch in her heart that sent chills running down her spine.

_What __did __I __do?_

Her pondering must have shown on her face, as Anders took her hand in his, stilling her trembling.

"Let me tell you what I saw."

_The __flames __glowing __dangerously __as __she __grasped __her __sword, __running __along __the __length __of __the __blade __in __silence __as __he __felt __Mana __rushing __by __him, __a __winding __river __pooling __into __a __lake, __pouring __into __the __woman __with __the __steel __bracer __on __her __arm._

_ The flames never losing their intensity as she dove forward into the throng of men surrounding her, battering aside sword and shield like leaves before an autumn storm. The glowing piece of steel highlighting the bright red on the walls with crackling sparks as she sheathed her blade into one body after another, felling her prey with all the grace and precision of a hawk hungry for vengeance._

_ The flames burning in her eyes steaming the relentless flow of tears into puffs of white mist as she cried, expending her unending grief upon the hapless men with blow after blow. The sword flashed flame-red with every swing, matching the woman's flame-red hair and her depthless resolve._

_ The flames dying as her focus shifted to a certain person lying in a spreading pool of crimson, as her rage subsided, giving way to a pent-up grief that could never be expelled._

_ The first of her tears hit the ground._

"At first I thought my wounds were making me see things, but now, as I think of it, it's the only way everything can make sense." Anders said, adopting a curious tone that was the mixture of an unwanted sorrow and an eerie satisfaction.

"What... what are you trying to tell me?" Clarissa stood abruptly. The chair clattered unceremoniously to the floor.

"What if I told you that the Carta were behind the attack on you and Bethany?" Anders said, a probing air to his voice.

Clarissa blanched in surprise at his words.

"What if I told you that the largest criminal guild in Kirkwall has taken an interest in your family?"

_What? Why would-_

"What if I told you that the Carta hired an assassin, and paid him to subdue Bethany and lead you to them?"

_He __did __so __much __more __than __that. _A voice sounded in Clarissa's head, making old hatred resurface and replace the doubt she had in her mind. Her previous thoughts were swept away as if they were of no consequence as a boiling roil of emotions rose within her.

_He __put __a __knife __through __Bethany, _your _Bethany's __heart. __He __nearly __took __her __from __you, __and __for __what? __A __handful __of __gold?_

Clarissa clenched her hands, fury filling her once again. How dare the Carta hurt her? How dare they try to take away what was hers?

"What if-" Anders' next words were cut off as a gleaming steel bracer silenced him, mail-backed gauntlets flexing open and closed in unrestrained anger.

"Then they shall die, slowly, painfully, as I died slowly, painfully as I wept for what I lost." The words were imbued with power as she uttered them, as if every syllable was an oath in itself.

_The __Carta._

_ So be it._

"Draw your sword, Clarissa." Anders said solemnly.

She did. The walls played a trick on her and moved as her hand moved, the shadows cast by the lit lanterns moving and shifting in crazy, erratic movements as her longsword left her sheath.

She gasped with disbelief at the formless flames running along the length of her blade, burning as bright as the emotions within her. Anders moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Now, you see."

/Hi again!

Another difficult chapter to write, but an immensely enjoyable one. I hope the plot as of now is not so confusing. I'll try to keep it simple. (Like hell)

Again, I feel like more could be done with the *SPOILER ALERT* (for those of you who like me so much you read what I say before the story, which numbers to about... 0.5) twist I added in there. Let me know what you think! Do you feel the Legacy coming up? Cus I sure as hell do.

Thanks again, and keep reading!/


	10. Storm on the Horizon

/SPOILER ALERT! LEGACY-RELATED CONTENT ABOUND! READ AT YOUR DISCRETION!/

The Vimmark Mountains stung Clarissa everywhere, circling like wasps around her exposed flesh, prickling her with icy venom as she grimaced and winced. Flecks of pure white billowed around her as the howling winds blurred her vision and forced her to turn her head to avoid a particularly potent onslaught from the side.

As she did, however, she spotted Bethany close behind her, seemingly less affected by the cold. The only sign of her struggle was her staggering, stabbing her staff into the snow and trudging along in her borrowed mountain boots as the wind lashed against her face and sent her the meager black curls that crept out of her hood into a halo around her head. A pang of nostalgia hit Clarissa as she saw Bethany draw the aged Fereldan fur cloak tighter around herself, the familiar sight bringing memories of long-past winters back into clarity. A sudden blast of cold air brought her back, though, and she reluctantly returned her focus to the winding path that, hopefully, led downhill and into the chasms that were their destination.

According to Varric's "reliable" sources, the Kirkwall cell of the Carta were just _tasked _to instigate the incident at Anders' clinic. A much larger sect of the Dwarven syndicate, located deep within the Vimmark peaks, was behind the attack. Banging her armored fist on the table, Clarissa had announced her intention to "pay them a visit" and "have a good sit-down"

Right now, that moment of bravado seemed like a foolish idea to her.

"It shouldn't be far now." A less-than-cheery voice, sounding like it was spoken from miles away, reached Clarissa's ears. She could only barely make out the short, rotund figure leaving wide bootprints in front of her, and the unblemished brass ornaments that, with reflected light, formed a long rectangle on his back.

"How do you know? Every bend looks exactly the _damned_ same!" Isabela shouted from behind Bethany, the howls muffling her words and the occasional curses that trailed after a stumble or a slip. Upon her words, it struck Clarissa as oddly amusing when she spied Isabela wearing more than two articles of clothing.

_Alas, __even __the __most __fiery __sensuality __must __bow __before __the __sting __of __the __Vimmarks._Clarissa thought, then smiled at herself before her thoughts turned to a more carnal nature which involved a specific person. The wind was doing strange things to her.

With a loud exclamation, Varric turned towards the group following him, a triumphant expression on his face. "You can snap out of your icy blue now, Rivaini." He chuckled, complete with shivering. "We're here."

As Varric sidestepped to give them a better view, Clarissa's eyes focused on a gigantic glacial lake, its untouched permafrost gleaming in the mountain sun. The unmarred surface was dotted with tall stalagmites poking out of the frozen lake, some of them joining together to form from small ridges to towering walls over ten feet high. From a high viewpoint such as Clarissa's, they melded into a peculiar landscape, a miniature set of ridges, valleys and crests, all covered in glistening white. A narrow path led from her position to the first of the stalagmites, a path that seemed almost too convenient to be true.

Then Clarissa saw the layout of the ice.

They fanned outwards, towards Clarissa, Bethany, Isabela, Varric, and any possible, and _unwanted_, intruders.

Clarissa's eyes narrowed in suspicion, her heart skipping a beat as she regarded the holes and gaps in the extrusive stalagmites in a new light. Suddenly, the jagged edges of the stalagmites looked a lot more menacing than they had only moments ago, as Clarissa could almost swear she saw the telltale slivers of arrowheads in stark contrast of the snow.

_It __can't __be._

Then, abruptly, the wind stilled.

A speck of white shifted among the sea of its kin. The glint of silver steel flashed once, and was gone.

_Oh __for __the __love __of __the-_

The first of the arrows whizzed over Clarissa's head as the wind returned with a vengeance, a tidal wave of snow, hail and razor-sharp bolts heading straight for her.

"Company!" Clarissa shouted as she deftly deflected an arrow with her bracer, kneeling as she did so. Wordlessly, her companions sprang into action, dodging the first of the well-aimed arrows.

Bethany cursed inwardly at her dulled senses as she conjured the image of a shield of unbreakable steel in her mind. Gathering her Mana, she willed the image into reality as a shimmering arc of flickering energy appeared at her fore, knocking bolts loosed at her off their course with pure magic. As the first of the bolts impacted the shield, however, she felt a jolt of unexpected shock run through her, sapping her strength at a phenomenal rate with the Lyrium runes etched on them. Her heart sank further still as she spied ever more Lyrium-imbued arrows flying towards her with all the fury of a full-blown hailstorm.

Gritting her teeth, she funneled more of her reserves into maintaining the arc as Varric retreated into the protective shield's safety, firing a strange-looking bolt from Bianca into the ground before them.

The bolt exploded on contact with a giant puff of smoke, creating a solid wall of pure white that blended with the snow on the ground. The roiling cloud seemed to faze the unseen attackers as the ranged assault dwindled, the amount of arrows counting down to nothing.

But then it picked up again, and this time, the archers didn't even pause to aim. Clarissa noted with alarm that the ripples on Bethany's shield increased exponentially, the expanding circles duplicating themselves like raindrops on canvas.

"I can't do anything from here!" Isabela shouted over the intermittent tangs that signaled the continuance of the onslaught, her daggers flailing about uselessly. Clarissa's mind snapped to life at that as she weighed their options.

"We have to move! Bethany! Can you hold the spell long enough for us to reach the bottom?" Clarissa focused her eyes on Bethany, who turned at the mention of her name. Her brown eyes were mired in confusion, exhaustion and overpowering _fear_. A sting of pain speared Clarissa through the heart as the raindrops kept at their creation of new ripples.

"I...I'm not sure..." Bethany murmured as a wave of fatigue crashed over her, making her shield waver dangerously and her focus stutter. Mana drained from her in staggering speeds, and she had only packed a few potions in favour of a lighter pack. Her eyes drifted shut as she struggled to hold the image of the shield, _her_shield, in place, every ripple on her shield dampening her senses further

_Maker, __grant-_

_ Gra-_

Bethany's breathing became labored. She became unable to summon the strength to even open her eyes, let alone reach for her potions. She funneled everything she had into maintaining the spell that was keeping her alive, yet killing her at the same time. Absolute darkness began to drape over her eyes.

Abruptly, something touched her shoulder, soft and firm.

_You __can __do __it, __Bethany._

The voice rang through her, lucid and clear. She didn't even need to open her eyes to feel those violet-blue eyes gazing deep into her, warming her numb limbs and substituting raw power for Mana.

Yet, somehow, a dormant part of Bethany came alive at Clarissa's words, and it waited, anticipated, longed for the words that would follow, the words that would ignite the kindling flame she felt sparking deep within herself.

_You __can __do __it, __Bethany. __I-_

Still, she waited, the wind, snow and arrows mere nuisances against her smoldering desire.

_ I believe in you._

Bethany's eyes snapped open at that, while her heart floundered like an arrow that had missed its mark. Was that it? She looked into Clarissa's eyes with disbelief. Clarissa's eyes were uncertain, unfocused, nothing like the resolute voice that had saved her from certain collapse as her eyes broke contact.

Frustration set into her mind then, kindling a much more different flame that blazed freely through her like wildfire spreading through a dry plain, filling every fiber of her being with raw, feral power that burned with fiery intensity.

Casting her mind to the wind, she pushed and drove until the drafts high above subsided to her sheer will. Then, with the very winds at her command, she redirected the howling blizzard and the storms of hail back down the narrow path, towards the snipers concealed behind the fragile icy pillars.

Clarissa could literally feel the magic radiating from her younger sister as the storm that had been their worst enemy suddenly became their ally. Patches of white squirmed for cover as solid ice pellets the size of Clarissa's fist assailed the lonely stalagmites with hurricane force, a storm of deadly and limitless ammunition called forth from the heavens. She watched in awe as stray bolts loosed by the fleeing assailants were disbelievingly turned _backwards_ by the brute force of the wind at Bethany's command, some even hitting the scampering archers in the back.

Bethany took a step forward. Clarissa, Isabela and Varric followed her, step by step as they descended the path under the cover of the screeching storm.

A line of steel-clad dwarves appeared at the opposite end of the glacier lake, hefting battleaxes, swords and shields, marching towards Clarissa's party at a cohesive, collected pace. The fleeing archers regrouped behind the advancing line, and nocked their arrows once more. In stark contrast to the frosty white surrounding them, the blood-red seal of the Carta stood out comically, a line of floating red glyphs drifting above the billowing snow.

Letting her primal nature overwhelm her, Bethany lost control. Gloriously.

The skies darkened with frightening speed as stormclouds gathered overhead, slabs of solid black blotting out the sun itself. As they drifted closer, sparks of blinding white lanced across the narrowing patches of blue, pulling the darkness closer as Clarissa fixed her eyes on her sister, whose hands were raised towards the sky, eyes wide yet seeing nothing but the power rushing through her.

The first arrows reached within ten feet of Bethany, then were plucked away by bolts of pure energy moving at a pace Clarissa's eyes could not register fast enough. Every time a well-placed arrow neared the advancing group, the lightning struck precisely and concisely, burning them away as if they were naught but ash doomed to fall before the goddess herself.

Thick, hard strands of pure white lanced down from above, striking the ground advancing line of dwarven warriors, melting the snow instantly and leaving a dull black scorch marks in its wake. The dwarves faltered, grinding to a halt as pounding thunder echoed across the lake, as if heralding the lightning yet to come. Yet, as the thunderbolts continually struck the line of dwarves, Clarissa noticed that they never hit the dwarves entirely, instead only forcing them to stop before the imposing, yet ineffective attacks Bethany unleashed.

"Varric." A curt order, given in a low, dangerous voice Clarissa almost could not recognise. Laced with menace and purpose, the mechant prince what Bethany meant at once.

"Come on, Bianca, dear girl..." Clarissa heard Varric mutter as he lined up his beloved crossbow's brass sights on the confused group of dwarven warriors, his finger slowly curling around the trigger he crafted to a snug fit with his grip. A metallic _ping _and a whoosh of air followed shortly after, and Clarissa spotted a sleek, slim bolt leave Bianca's embrace, flying headfirst through the snow towards the line of glinting steel.

Bethany wasn't done, however. A particularly powerful bolt left the clouds at exactly the same time as the crossbow bolt left Bianca, striking it in mid-air in flawless motion.

The bolt exploded with flame as it made contact with the raw power given to it, lacing itself with iridescent red as its perfect accuracy embedded itself into the chest of the centermost dwarf in the line, his armor melted away a split second before the bolt itself reached his heart.

The dwarf toppled over promptly, as did several others as Varric's impeccable aim, combined with Bethany's overpowering magic made for a continuous and deadly assault against the rapidly deforming line.

"'Bela." Bethany intoned. Isabela laughed.

"Race you there." The words were left hanging in the wind like her forgotten cloak as Isabela vanished out of sight, reappearing beside a stone-faced dwarf who had been holding his shield high and blocking Varric's bolts. She ended the hapless dwarf's life with a quick jab of her dagger into the back of his head, while her other hand flicked subconsciously, launching her offhand dagger into the skull of a nearby archer. She quickly retrieved her weapon afterwards, then busied herself by engaging a dwarf brandishing a disproportional battleaxe. Chuckles and unrestrained laughter soon mingled with the rolling thunder.

Clarissa stayed beside her sister's statuary figure, partly out of shock and partly to guard against any unwanted influence. She had never seen Bethany's magic so potently at work before. Surely, the odd searing fireball that set unfortunate bandits ablaze and the occasional release of icy energy that could put even Rage incarnations on tilt were impressive. Even so, she had never seen Bethany like this before, with unbridled power running through her as if she was merely a conduit for it to be released into the world, like a goddess of her realm, fiery, godlike and utterly beautiful. Watching her practically _thrum_with power, a thought suddenly bubbled up into her mind.

_She __doesn't __need __me __to __protect __her __anymore._

The voice made sense, and rightly so. All her life, Bethany had been living under her family's wing. Be it being tutored by her loving father, or being watchfully guarded by her omnipresent older sister, she had lived a relatively peaceful life that contradicted one of her position, of her blood. It was Clarissa's willing obligation to shield her, and she has gladly done it for naught on nineteen years.

_She's __grown __so __strong..._

What did that mean for her? Would it mark the end of the companionship she and Bethany had treasured for so long? Clarissa was reluctant to go that far, but was it still her choice?

A sudden rush of air jolted Clarissa out of her reverie, making her cast her eyes towards the origin of the disturbance.

Isabela was sent flying as a blast of physical force hit her in her flank, landing on a hard patch of ice that sent a resounding _crack_echoing across the lake. "Damn it..." She groaned as her daggers fell from her grip and her side throbbed with pain, losing feeling as the ice pressed into her exposed flesh. Red swam across her vision as she stared at her assailant.

A figure garbed in ragged armor stood at the edge of a flattened stalagmite, hands spread wide apart and pulsing with dark magic. A trio of bolts headed straight for his head, only to stop before his face and shatter as an invisible force wrenched them from their forlorn destination. The profile labeled him distinctly human, which made sense as dwarves could not practice magic at all.

Clarissa looked at Bethany, at her now-flustered movements as her attacks made no effect on the rival mage. She turned to Clarissa, determination and anger replaced by anxiety and fear. "He's shielded himself. My magic can't even touch him." Her eyes flickered to Isabela, her distant body lolling limply as she struggled to recover. Bethany's eyes betrayed her thoughts to Clarissa.

_I __can't __reach __'Bela __without __attracting __the __attention __of __the __mage, __who __I __can't __fight __on __even __ground._

Her eyes focused on Clarissa.

_I __need __you, __Clare._

She didn't need asking twice.

Clarissa bounded her way to the battered stalagmites with speed that rivaled Isabela, dodging bolts of turgid black loosed by the mage. A surge of magical energy filled her as she felt Bethany cast a spell on her. Her bracer flared brilliantly before fading to its original color, only now skitters of electricity ran along the polished steel, signaling the magic that now resided within it.

Clarissa charged, leaving the protective cover of the ice formations and heading straight for the mage. A blast of magic met her advance head-on, only to be blocked fully by her bracer, which she held high. The rival magic clashed before Clarissa's very eyes, but it was not enough to deter her. With Bethany by her side, she was complete, perfect, and utterly _invincible._

His staff-blade was of little consequence as she sidestepped a wayward swing from the hopelessly doomed mage, who had allowed her to close the distance between them, the distance that would have saved him, at least for a few more minutes.

Prancing forward, Clarissa drove down with her blade, feeling the sharp edge pass seamlessly through rough flesh. Riding her momentum, she left the decapitated arm, attached to the mage's staff, where it lay in the snow while she allowed herself a small smile as the mage howled in pain.

Her head was level with his as her sword sheathed itself in the mage's chest, the cloth armor doing nothing to stop the glistening steel passing through his heart. His mouth making strange gurgles as blood filled the cavity. Faintly, Clarissa was aware of Bethany rushing to Isabela, who was practically groveling as her legs apparently lost their feeling. She heard the familiar wet squelch as her blade left another victim spent and dying as she pulled it out of the warm and slightly odorous body.

_Just __another __day __in __the __adventures __of __Clarissa __Hawke, __and __her __merry __band __of __misfits._She mused as she flexed the blade in her hands, flinging blood onto the ice.

Then she heard it.

The faint sizzling of melting ice stood out as clear as the sun now shining above her again. Casting her eyes downwards, she saw the dark, bubbling crimson spreading underneath the prone corpse of the dead mage, the light striking the growing puddle making it look decidedly black.

_Black __blood... __Sizzling __blood..._

The brown, smudgy, patched cloth armor the dead mage wore sent shock careening through Clarissa's body, launching her mind into frenzied activity of fear, doubt and utter disbelief.

Varric Tethras appeared next to her, the relieved smile on his face disappearing quickly as he noticed the attention Clarissa was doting on the spent corpse. "It's a dead mage, Hawke. It's right next to rats in Lowtown." He chuckled as he said it, unaware.

"It's more than that." She replied. She was sure of it, not even needing to flip the body over to reveal its face. "Bethany." She called, her voice too filled with shock to carry through the howling wind that surrounded her. Even so, Bethany noticed the commotion, and walked up to Clarissa with Isabela's arm over her shoulder.

"No... This can't be," were her only words when she recognized the sizzling black blood, the brown cloth armor, and the bald, deformed skull the dead mage possessed.

Clarissa kicked the corpse onto its back, revealing a snarling, lifeless face with depthless black eyes that were filled by nothing other than its tainted blood. _The __blood __of __my __enemy. _She thought bitterly as Varric cursed loudly in the lamenting wind.

Lying before them was none other than a Hurlock emmisary.

A Darkspawn.

/Hey there!

I know is has been quite some time comparing to my posting schedule (Yes I do have one). Blame MW3 and BF3 and DAO Ultimate finally joining me. Anyways, Here's more fight scenes to you. I think I've managed them quite well, but critique is appreciated! That ending there... It's a shame the Legacy trailer had Darkspawn in it, it could have been so much more... EPIC.

At any rate, I shan't keep you. Remember to R&R and keep reading!/


	11. Lingering Doubt

The dwarf known as Rhatigan, leader of the surfacer Carta, fell on his knees before Clarissa Hawke, blood rushing into his lungs and forcing choking sounds as he tried to breathe. Dark crimson stained the ground as blood flew from his lips, the silent movements of his mouth persisting until he fell over, dead. She had wanted to interrogate the doomed dwarf, and perhaps gain some insight as to why Tainted Carta and Darkspawn would, peculiarly, want her family's blood. The satisfaction of laying his throat open would have to do.

A gory explosion caught the corner of Clarissa's vision as Bethany rent a Hurlock in half, her crushing prison's shackles elongating to impossible lengths as she silenced the Darkspawn's defiant screech. Isabela landed next to her in a puff of smoke, twirling her wicked daggers as her foe, a burly Bronto, toppled over, a nasty gash laying its skull open.

"Show off." Varric scoffed as he descended the short flight of stairs, returning Bianca to her place of rest with a single, practiced motion. Isabela chuckled, wiping her daggers clean on a Carta rogue's leather armor as Clarissa approached, sheathing her sword and readjusting her bracer. "What was that dwarf talking about? That Corypheus? He certainly sounds like someone we shouldn't trifle with." Bethany said, regaining her composure after her physical and magical exertion. She sighed in relief as her Mana returned to her, a stream of gentle, cool water soothing her heightened senses.

"Names can be deceiving, and I'm going after this Corypheus person, frightening name or not." Clarissa said, looking Bethany in the eye.

_I __cannot __let __him __be. __Not __after __what __he's __done __to __you._

Bethany averted her gaze. Isabela, ever on the lookout for shiny objects, crowed happily as she pulled on the one lever that didn't trigger the multitude of traps hidden beneath the dirt. The sound of grinding metal irritated their ears as one of the majestic stone pillars at the center of the room slid open. The hidden panel had been well disguised, painted dusty brown and adorned with unassuming flakes of dirt, belying the object it concealed.

Isabela grunted as she wrapped her hands around the hilt, pulling it out of its hiding place and laying it on the ground with a dull clatter. The racket attracted her companions, and soon they were gathered around the source of the commotion.

A one-handed longsword lay on the ground, at least four feet long, consisting of an ornate hilt, a gracefully curving crossguard, and a balanced, rugged blade that hummed softly in resonance, as if delighted as its jagged edges came into contact with the world once more. Under the flickering orange light, the blade seemed to shimmer and warp, losing form and coalescing hypnotically as if conjured from thin air.

And all of it was gold. Pure, glittering gold wearing scratches and blemishes that told of its hardiness and warned of its lethality, casting blinding light that outshone the sun. Varric whistled, Isabela beamed, while Clarissa and Bethany looked on in wonder.

As the shifting candlelight hit the reflecting surface, Clarissa caught a glimpse of telltale lines etched onto the center of the crossguard in the form of a indiscernible symbol. Bending down to get a better look, she saw that a hawk was carved onto the crossguard with its wings spread wide, its shining silver eyes transcending the monotonous gold, surveying the world with a pristine vigil. The symbol was oddly familiar to Clarissa, as if she had once known it well. She looked to her side and saw Bethany's pensive expression mirror her own. The blade hummed at her hesitation, impatient to be wielded once more.

_No __guts, __no __glory._

Swallowing heavily, Clarissa allowed her sword hand to slowly approach the gilded hilt of the sword, feeling the faint resonance in the air intensify with her proximity.

A current of electricity ran through her when her palm closed around the hilt, jolting her into standing up. An icy coldness passed along her sword arm, making her gasp and go numb. Her grip on the sword loosened, the whole of her forearm becoming alien to her body. Blinding light exploded from behind her eyes, drowning out the world save for the gleaming gold in front of her. A waterfall of sound assailed her, multitudes of voices whispering in unison, yet speaking different words into her ear.

Clarissa crumbled before the monumental assault. Her left hand pressed itself against her temple, only to be torn away by her as searing heat, radiating from her bracer, burned her cheek. All the while, she felt a singular but powerful presence seeking entrance into her mind, batting at the feeble barriers she put up. Just off the edge of her consciousness, she felt her sister funneling her strength into her through their bond, determined to help her any way she could.

The pressure increased once. The world went white.

Clarissa held on. Feebly.

The pressure increased twofold. The voices blotted the concerned shouts of her companions.

Still, Clarissa refused to bow to the foreign entity. What she did do, however, was to push Bethany away from her mind. Gritting her teeth, she cordoned off her mind to Bethany's, knowing that if she failed to defeat her adversary, Bethany would be at risk as well.

What felt like a mountain slammed into her, driving breath from her lungs, making her arms go wide and her body stagger backwards. Her very blood boiled.

Clarissa felt the supporting touch of Bethany's hand on her arm fade away, signalling the crumbling of her senses, and she buckled. Her one tether of strength and solace was gone. Whatever the entity desired, she was no longer capable of denying.

The voices ceased their cacophony at once, as if hushed into silence.

The world slowly returned to Clarissa's senses as her eyes readjusted from blinding white to ambient gloom.

The golden sword hovered in mid-air, shimmering as its icy chill altered the very flow of air around it. Slowly, Clarissa turned her head to look at her side, where her sword arm lay limp.

All query from her thoughts were washed away as she felt the alien presence press into her mind, as a blood mage would when plying his wicked craft. The hollow in her thoughts moved back and forth in the recess of her consciousness, as if examining her every aspect, peering into the very fiber of her being. Curiously, the touch of her intruder's mind mirrored her impressions on the golden sword, utterly alien yet deceptively familiar, like what one would feel when greeting a long-forgotten friend.

Regardless, she remained stone-still as the intruder sifted through her memories, peeked into her emotions and examined her actions. It sped through her childhood with remarkable speed, perhaps because of its relative unimportance. Faintly, she was aware of it glancing at the part of her that harboured her infatuation towards Bethany, and she thought she felt something akin to surprised amusement slip out of its thoughts. She protested against its prying tendrils weakly and, curiously enough, the intruder's thoughts turned apologetic, and its probes withdrew from that particular domain.

When it seemed that the intruder was satisfied with its tampering, it backed away. Its foreign thoughts ebbed like a serpent slithering its way out of Clarissa's mind as she struggled not to shove it out, not to tear her very hair out to rid herself of its influence.

Clarissa sighed as the presence vanished from the confines of her skull, her eyes regaining their sight and her ears sensitive to the cave's creaks and scuffles once more. The sudden withdrawal left her taxed, however, and she blacked out for a moment. When she came to, she was half- sitting, half-lying on the cave floor, a protective cradle wrapped around her shoulders. As her eyes searched for a place to regain its focus, it landed on soft brown orbs that flickered with concern, full, pale lips that bent in a familiar frown, and scattered strands of black curls that framed a shapely face. A rotund figure stood some distance away, holding a gleaming rectangle in its arms and pointing it at the dark hallways that led from the room they were in. Sounds of something heavy being overturned and whistles of delight reached Clarissa's ears, and she felt a smile touch her lips.

After waving off Bethany's offers of healing magic, Clarissa grunted as her sister helped her up. Her back felt sore as if she had endured a day's work, and every bone in her body ached. "I'll live." She muttered, standing upright once again.

A flash of reflected light caught Clarissa's attention, and she turned around to better visualise the source.

The golden longsword hovered in the air, its tip pointed downwards. It shivered and wavered as Clarissa's eyes settled upon it, and seemingly of its own accord, the flat of the blade turned towards her, revealing the same seal that had piqued Clarissa's interest. Only this time, there was something different. Clarissa's eyes narrowed as she tried to make out the subtle, but obvious changes made to the marking, her effort bringing her closer and closer to the hovering blade. She was aware of the sword's hazardous nature, as the imprint on her mind was still vivid, but something about the wavy outline of the blade comforted her, drew her close, and made it easy for her to overpower her own reservations and approach it without fear. It was like the whispers of a familiar voice, long-forgotten but reassuring. It unnerved a small part of Clarissa, but she pushed that small part away as she beheld the altered seal on the crossguard.

The hawk was now accompanied by an eagle, twined intricately with deep-set golden lines as their proud silver eyes gazed into each other. What had once been the hawk's wings in the background was now a separate but whole pair, with the hawk contributing its right wing, and the eagle gracing the seal with its left wing. Their sharp beaks met each other in the dead center of the seal, as if sharing a soft kiss as their talons clutched each others' in an intimate embrace.

Clarissa raised her bracer arm, and saw the identical symbol on the tempered steel.

With a sudden movement, born of confidence she didn't know she had, Clarissa took hold of the sword with her outstretched hand. This time, there was no surge of electricity. This time there was no intruder worming its way into her mind. There was only the feeling of the handle, the balance of hilt and blade, and the feeling of long-awaited reconciliation as the blade pressed itself into her hand. A faint light, cast from matching lines on her sword and her bracer, illuminated her face as a thought hit her, unbidden and without warning.

_This __is __my __sword._

Her longsword had served her well, of that there was no doubt. She had cut down many a foe with sure strikes and practiced blows with it, carrying it for nigh on ten years. Somehow, she knew that its time was up. All doubt of that was swept away as she swung the golden blade in an arc, satisfied as it took her almost no effort. She then proceeded to twirl and flourish the blade around her in a flurry, knowing that the complex set of movements would put pause to even her most skilled enemies. The walls shone with savage golden light as the blade flew from one position to another, until Clarissa was finished with her experimentation. A satisfied smile on her face, she turned around to find Bethany walking towards her, happiness for her evident on her face as well. "It's like you have this new toy and," She giggled, "you just can't get enough of it."

"Aw, are you jealous?" Clarissa teased as Isabela nudged Varric to watch the banter unfold. Not wanting to disappoint, she ran a hand down Bethany's back as she settled next to her. "Don't worry, you'll always be my favourite."

Something flickered across Bethany's eyes so fast that Clarissa barely had time to catch it. She had meant it in jest, but despite the mirth that completed the honey brown eyes, she saw something else flash past, something... emotional. Curiosity got the better of her, and she was just about to ask after Bethany when she saw her gasp.

Bethany grabbed hold of her in an instant and pulled her towards herself.

A moment later, a serrated blade cut the spot where Clarissa had been moments before in half.

A dozen Darkspawn materialized out of the shadows, catching the group by surprise. Scanning the snarling beasts, Bethany caught eye of a Hurlock that towered over its comrades, the normally bare and unarmored skull featuring a ghastly helm with horns jutting out to the sides.

After that, there was no time for thoughts, no room for decisions. The Darkspawn fell on them like crows on carrion, separating the group by strength of numbers. Clarissa beheld the familiar sound of Bianca's bayonet sliding out of its concealed slot, moments before the first high-pitched scream hit her ears.

Clarissa blocked a savage sideswipe from a charging Hurlock with her new blade, a resounding _ping_making its way across the chamber. Drawing momentum from the creature itself, Clarissa let her arm fly back, taking her body in a whirling spin before bringing the honed edge through the Hurlock's neck. It passed with little resistance, as a hot knife would when passing through butter. She could not contain her laugh as the dark crimson laced on her blade sliced through the air once more, this time striking another Hurlock on its battered shield and blasting it apart with unparalleled ease. It was as if the blade was in tune with her every movement, privy to her every whim as she swung, cleaved and fenced with unnatural clarity. Every time she brought it round for a deathblow, the blade accentuated her already formidable force, removing second thoughts and making her fight with feral bloodlust; Every time she jammed her heels into the dirt while parrying a Hurlock's frenzied attacks, the blade made her senses crystal-clear, her vision razor-sharp as she took notice of every twitch and shift in her opponent's pose and making it all the easier for her to dispatch her quarry.

A guttural roar caught her attention as she nimbly sidestepped a headlong cleave from the lone, horned Hurlock. A quick scan of the chamber told her that her foe was the only one of the opposition still standing, as corpses bearing burns, stab wounds and arrows through their skulls littered the floor. The Alpha engaged with bestial abandon, battering Clarissa with brutal swings and whooshing blows. The ferocity of its blows put pause to Clarissa's companions- Bethany could not engage the Alpha with her magic, for fear of injuring Clarissa in the process; Isabela's quick, daring strikes were at a loss in the confrontation, as the Hurlock's attacks made it difficult for her to find an opening from which to attack; Varric could not even find a trajectory for Bianca that would not include Clarissa, courtesy of their personal engagement. They could only watch as the deadly dance of pitch-black against rugged gold unfolded before their eyes.

Their blades locked as their eyes met, forcing warrior and Darkspawn into a match of strength. While Clarissa had the advantage of the blade's intangible aid, the Alpha responded with its unnatural strength, borne of its Tainted blood. They held in such a position for some time, neither side willing to budge as their eyes engaged in a clash of will. The Hurlock glared at her with single-minded determination, bloodlust fueling it to press and press until she yielded in the straight-up match of muscles. A plan formed in Clarissa's mind.

_Time __to __turn __the __tables._

Without warning, Clarissa adjusted the angle with which she applied force to, forcing the blades to go sideways and straining the Alpha's thick wrist to twist to the left. The Alpha growled and tried to respond, but it was too late. It grunted heavily as Clarissa's bracer, hard and unforgiving, smashed across the side of its helmet. The helmet displaced, the left-side horn now facing Clarissa as the plate metal obscured the creature's vision. For a moment, the Alpha disengaged, the darkness in front of its eyes confusing it momentarily. Its other hand reached up to readjust the wayward helmet just as Clarissa, without the luxury of planning, stabbed the golden sword deep into the Alpha's abdomen.

A roar of pain and anger echoed as the Alpha swung its sword sideways blindly, making Clarissa duck, prance backwards and take her blade with her. With its helmet back in place, it snarled evilly at Clarissa, taunting her and chuckling. With a swift, perhaps planned, motion, it picked up an intact shield and retreated down a flight of stone stairs. Frustrated at letting her prey taunt her and escape her at the same time, Clarissa took no heed of her sister's warning and bounded after the fleeing Hurlock with her companions tailing her.

The fleeing Hurlock led Clarissa on a merry chase, clambering down flights of stairs and leading her deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine catacombs. Left and right the passages went, amazing Clarissa with their complexity and undermining her hopes of retracing her steps back to the surface. With detached interest, she saw that the Hurlock had led her past a grand arch that signalled a change in her surroundings from narrow passageways to a comparatively larger hall. Three stone doorways, all leading to different directions, stood on the far end of the hall. They were the only way out of the hall, and the Hurlock was nowhere to be seen. Behind her, she could faintly hear the multitude of footsteps that heralded her companions' arrival.

The very air shifted as Isabela's boots crossed the threshold, as the trap sprung to life.

A golden curtain coalesced in the high arch, shifting and translucent as a hiss of compressed air squeezed past the curtain, sealing the doorway from which Clarissa had just come. The yellow light solidified into flowing canvas just as Clarissa pounded her fist on the barrier, trying to break through. To her disappointment, the barrier was as stalwart as thickened steel.

They were trapped.

Clarissa swore loudly as chain of events unraveled itself.

_The __more-than-useless __ambush._

_ The fleeing Alpha._

_ The downward spiral._

She bought it all. Hook, line, and sinker.

She bought it all, and now they were trapped.

A rumbling roar shook the hall, reverberating off the stone walls and the tall pillars that lined the center. It carried with it the long-forgotten menace Clarissa had tried so hard to forget, making old fears return and an all-too-familiar chill to run down her spine, even after it faded into nothing. A quick look back at dwindling brown eyes told her that she was not alone. Wordlessly, she walked up to the leftmost end of the hall, where a patch of the wall was missing, a tear in the very fabric of the world revealing nothing but black as she weighed her options. She grasped her sheathed sword tightly, futilely seeking comfort in the soft, worn handle as fear and anger waged war in her mind.

"We'll... uh, we'll just set camp here. I need a breather anyway." Murmured Varric, who knew better than to disturb Clarissa. Isabela started after her but was held back by a short arm and a curt shake of Varric's head.

Fingers, soft and cool, wrapped around Clarissa's shoulder as Bethany appeared to her right, startling her with silent footsteps and calming her with soothing touches. There's something about her younger sister that brought complete peace to her, emptying the world and its worries in her sincere, warm gaze until there was nothing left except for her, and her alone. Still, she let her duty overrule her and her lips moved of their own accord.

"It's my fault. I led us into this." She lowered her eyes, not wanting to meet Bethany's. Her body was beset by multiple strains of thought running through her: Her fists clenched and unclenched in frustration; Her eyes averted others' apologetically; Her legs trembled unwillingly out of fear that her worst nightmares would come true. Of all of them, her fear unnerved her the most- She needed to be strong. She and Bethany were the only ones who have truly faced Darkspawn in bulk, and even so the ones they had fought were merely roving bands of stragglers and scouts.

Now they were in their territory.

She's already lost once. How can she endanger her again? What more must she lose?

"Don't give me that." A soft voice cooed, bringing Clarissa's eyes level again. "Don't shut me out." Bethany said, as if she was the older sister consoling a frightened sibling. With her words came a silent promise, a soft-spoken guarantee that everything would be all right. An overly optimistic prospect, perhaps, but the way it was veiled gave Clarissa courage. She beat away the coldness clawing at her limbs, taking back the tears of despair and letting ones of gratitude spill over as she smiled, grateful that she had Bethany by her side.

_Together._

The word shook with power in her mind, repeating itself as it echoed away. Clarissa searched Bethany's eyes and found the same word veiled in determined brown eyes as the bond between flared to life, accentuating the one word that meant the world to them.

_Always._

Clarissa felt herself edge forward, as Bethany's cool fingers left trails of fire across her cheek. Not once did her gaze flinch from Bethany's, as the distance between them closed. Slowly. Surely.

Brown eyes flickered as tears welled, reflecting violet-blue orbs that was her own. She was so close, closer than she had even been before. Full lips beckoned to her like never before. Want, desire and unbridled affection, towards the only one she loved, the only one she wanted to be together with, the only one she cherished always. She whispered her name, softly, in askance. There were no words in response, no words that could convey. Her eyes said it all.

_Forever._

Bethany's lips were soft and welcoming as she softly brushed a kiss onto them, her eyes closing in rapture at the feeling she has longed for eighteen years. It was as if her very soul opened to Bethany, all of her emotions there for her taking. She let out a small moan as she parted, stiffening in fearful surprise as Bethany's bewildered eyes, blushing cheeks and half-open lips greeted her vision.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-" Her next words were cut off as Bethany stepped forward and claimed her in a long kiss, her soft, cool fingers twining behind her head as dizzying passion swam through their lips and into hearts that burned with desire. Clarissa absently felt her back hit cold, hard stone, but she didn't care. All she felt was the numbing fire running through her limbs as Bethany pressed herself against her, every inch of her exposed skin coming into contact with the silken, perfect curves she had lusted after for so long. She didn't want that moment to end, as her arms reached behind Bethany and pulled her close. Bethany's lips tasted of honey, sweet, addictive honey that had Clarissa moaning in pleasure as their kiss deepened, eliciting similar moans from her sister.

_Her __sister._

_ Oh Maker, no._

Arms untangled, bodies pushed apart and lips were forced away as Clarissa gasped for breath, the sudden conflict of her heart and mind beginning all over again. She knew not why she pulled away. She knew not why she should have. Her whole self was in a jumbled mess as she tried to compose herself. She felt her sword trembling of its own accord in its sheath.

_Lips __pressed __tightly __together. __Fingers __intertwined __in __her __hair. __Bodies __melding __into __one._

"I'm sorry. I-" Words could not serve her. Not after what her sister did to her with only her lips, setting her ablaze and her heart go wild.

"I need... time..." She felt torn in half. Again, as she backed away, leaving Bethany, her sister, her _lover_, alone amidst the lonely stone pillars.

/Have you all been waiting for this? I hope you have, for I, for one, have been waiting to write this scene for some time! I hope I don't disappoint, but if I did, please point out what you'd like me to improve upon. The next chapter will be forthcoming in no time, and perhaps with some bumps along the road for our Clarissa as well.../


	12. Repentance

It's killing her.

Of that, Bethany was sure of. It became increasingly hard to even look at her without feeling her own cheeks heat and her heart race. It was becoming equally difficult to tear her gaze away, even when troubled violet-blue eyes turn and meet her. More than once, her focus had wavered when she looked on as Clarissa cut down Darkspawn after Darkspawn with calculated, precise attacks, the spectacle enrapturing her with such intensity that she had to resort to a costly surge of magic to ward off a blow she could have blocked with her staff; More than once, her mistakes would leave her weary and muddled, unable to act as her sister, ever vigilant, leapt to her defense, shrugging off crushing blows with the gnashing of teeth and her battle-worn bracer while she slayed those who would endanger her sister with frightening efficiency. It was just like so many times between them, but with one difference: After her rescue, Clarissa left as swiftly as she had come, charging back into the fray without so much as a backward glance, not even giving time for Bethany to utter so much as a thank-you. Bethany could only watch as Clarissa, grimacing from the pain of her numerous injuries, cut bloody paths through the endless throng of snarling, roaring Darkspawn. While her heart warmed at the thought of Clarissa defying the Maker Himself to come to her aid, she could not suppress the chill that ran down her spine as she watched Clarissa slip away from her, as she noticed Clarissa ignoring her attempts at conversation, refusing her offers at healing her wounds, and shying away from her very touch.

The intimacy between them, if only as sisters, was one of the things Bethany cherished the most. She hated the thought that by adding to that affection, she would, and indeed she was, putting distance between them.

_The __hesitation __melting __away __as __her __lips, __gentle __and __firm, __embraced __her __own __wholly, __fully, __without __reserve. __The __spark __of __white-hot __passion __at __the __bottom __of __her __stomach __as __her __fingers __ran __themselves __across __taut, __soft __skin __that __moved __as __their __mouths __moved __in __unison, __in __a __dance __with __no __choreography __and __planned __movement, __just __kindred __fire __dictating __their __bodies __and __driving __them __blissfully, __willingly __mad._

Deep down, she knew that she was wrong, that _they_ were wrong. It went against the will of the Maker Himself, and Bethany was sure countless others would also condemn them as well, if only because of their devout belief in the Chantry.

_What __would M__other __say? __What __would _you _say,__if __your __two __daughters, __coming __back __from __a __hot-headed __misadventure, __suddenly __claimed __to __be __in __love __with __each __other?_

She could almost scoff at the incredulity of the last sentence, had it not been her own self she was referring to. Instead, it dragged her mood to new lows as she stared forlornly into the lonely campfire, subconsciously tampering with the flames to make it flicker all the more intensely.

_"__I'm __sorry. __I __didn't __mean __t-__" __Cutting __Clarissa __off __never __felt __so __good __as __she __took __the __initiative, __the __molasses __restraining __her __letting __go, __set __free __by __the __fiery __sensations __that __coursed __through __her __very __core __when __Clarissa __had __kissed __her. __It __had __been __her __first __kiss, __her __very __first __attempt __at __such __a __level __of __intimacy __with __another, __yet __their __lips __moved __in __flawless synchronicity__, __complementing __each __other __as __she __felt __Clarissa's __tongue __beckoning __at __her __closed __teeth, __gently __seeking __entrance. __She __had __not __expected __the __wave __of __pleasure __that __washed __over __her __as __Clarissa __explored __the __confines __of __her __own __mouth, __her __own __tongue __rising __in __challenge, __battling __for __dominance __while __she __claimed __Clarissa __against __the __chamber __wall._

It was these thoughts that threatened to drive Bethany mad, flirting with her sanity with the sheer amount of pleasure it gave her, fanning the flames that grew ever stronger within her. It just felt so good... so... _right,_she couldn't turn away, even if she wanted to.

Her abstract ministrations slipped, and the flames shrugged out of the vise she had suppressed it with and flared in protest.

Echoing footsteps caught her attention, and she turned away from the fire and towards the source of the sound. "I take it that Clarissa is back?" Varric, forgotten and sitting across from her, said to himself. Clarissa had volunteered to hunt, as she had for the last three nights. Even though the exhaustion had been evident on her face, as the sporadic encounters with Darkspawn had proved to be taxing for all of them, she insisted upon undertaking the frustrating task of chasing down the nimble, crafty nugs that dwell in this part of the underground. Bethany had an inkling as to why she was so stubborn, and it pained her to see how Clarissa was hurting herself, _for __her_. She supposed it helped that Isabela tagged along this time.

Clarissa emerged from a shadow-cowled passageway, a brace of nugs in one hand, her dagger in the other. Isabela trailed behind her and, as her eyes met Bethany's, flashed her a knowing smile. It nearly went unnoticed, however, as Bethany pushed herself up to relieve Clarissa of her burden. She made no attempt to refuse, and in the briefest of moments, Bethany's fingers brushed Clarissa's. A tingle ran down Bethany's spine, bringing silenced memories to the fore as Clarissa's hand shrank back, the limp nugs barely escaping into Bethany's saving clutch. Bethany felt her chest tighten as Clarissa muttered an apology, ducking her head and turning away from Bethany's watering eyes.

Why was she doing this? _She_was the one who leaned in so slowly, so softly, making her heart race with the heat of her breath cradling her face; _She_was the one who whispered her name so softly, so lovingly, bidding her last doubts flight with the passion in her voice kindling her anew; _She_was the one who brushed her lips against hers, making the world fade away with the feel of her taut lips over her own, making her want... Making her _need_.

And yet she was the one who backed away, when Bethany had finally kissed her back, _loved_her back in the way they both wanted to.

_I __need...__time..._

_Maker __be __damned, __what __did __that __mean?_Bethany furrowed her brow, deep in thought as Varric and Isabela busied themselves with the nugs, their skinning knives making dull, muffled sounds as they cut into flesh. It unnerved Bethany all the more, as her heart throbbed and ached for the heat, the passion and the one person she wanted. No, _needed_. The person that was now clutching a stone railing that lined the relatively smaller chamber, looking deeply troubled.

Bethany murmured words under her breath, casting a spell that isolated sound in that particular section of the chamber. She had to fix this, right now. She had to, or she'd lose her.

_It's __now __or __never._

Taking a deep breath and letting it give her confidence, she stepped forward.

Clarissa felt the air around her still, the omnipresent echoes that regularly made their way fading to nothing. She felt the familiar silhouette of her sister approach, the crisp scent of freshly-washed clothes permeating the bubble Bethany created as she herself crossed the threshold, enclosing the both of them from the rest of the world.

_Together._

It came to her so suddenly, with such force, that Clarissa winced at the intensity of the thought. Her thoughts took her back in time, to the moment when she, of all times, lost control. Yet, as her fists clenched and flexed in an effort to rid herself of her traitorous thoughts, she could not resist turning around to meet her sister's, her _lover's_, gaze. The ice she had so painstakingly frozen her heart with melted away in an instant as her eyes fell upon the intensity that burned behind Bethany's eyes, upon the purpose with which she carried herself with. She was here to strip her, to tear the walls around her down once and for all, to fling open the doors she had kept shut for nigh on eighteen years. Clarissa felt breath rush out of her as she struggled to not give in, to not wrap her arms around her dear sister and pledge herself to her until the end of time, to not surrender to the sizzling lust that burned deep within her body. She was struggling simply to not go mad. Simply, willingly mad. She felt tears welling behind her eyes. She knew that she shouldn't. She knew that _it_shouldn't. Of all the things in the world that she stood up against, all the dangers she braved without fear, all the pain and sorrow she took and kept going, _she_was the one who would finally best her.

She felt the last of her defenses melt away as Bethany took her hand, as the tears overwhelmed her and the sobs escaped her taut throat. "Why do you cry?" Bethany asked. From the look of her eyes and the soft tone of her voice, it was evident that she knew the answer.

_You __know __why. _Clarissa couldn't summon her own voice, not when Bethany stepped closer still and she let her head fall onto her shoulder. "You're not the older sister you wanted to be. I know that. You try, time after time, to keep our family safe. To keep me safe." Bethany whispered into her ear, the words shivering as the whole of Clarissa's being resonated with them.

"You thought you'd failed, didn't you? When you saw them hurt me? When you saw Mother cry? When you saw Carver lie lifeless, crushed by the Darkspawn as he tried to be that proud arse that I hated him for?" Clarissa felt amusement lance through her despite herself. It was unsettling, the way Bethany manipulated her emotions as if twiddling them between her fingers, the way she addressed her deepest, darkest fears, her most painful, most heartbreaking regrets. But yet, as she lay limp in her younger sister's arms, she felt her words ring all the more true, and she yearned for more, for her to take all of her sadness, all of her pain and make them vanish.

Indeed, there was only one person in the world that had such power over her.

"You think you'd failed to be strong when you kissed me that night, when you let yourself go, just once, just so that you can finally have me- Your delectable little sister that was becoming your lover."

She moaned into her as the words struck home, the tears seeping into the white cloth and making Bethany's skin- Her soft, welcoming, silken skin- feel all the more close to her.

"You punished yourself because of it. You never stopped doing it. You think about how things could've been different, had you been stronger, tougher when they came to pass around you."

_Did __she? __Had __she __been __the __one __tearing __herself __apart __for __so __long?_Her arms found each other behind Bethany, but she still could not find the strength to pull herself up, to meet the eyes of the woman she loved.

"You don't have to face it alone."

_She __didn't?_

"Other people always took risks to keep me free, to keep me safe. Other people have given their lives so that I may live. But only one of them have stabbed herself in her heart so she could keep her vaunted vigil."

_Vaunted __now, __am __I?_Clarissa couldn't suppress a smile tugging at her lips. Bethany was doing it again, and she wanted it all. She wanted _more_.

Clarissa felt hands at the back of her head, pulling her back, bringing into the view those melancholic honey-brown eyes that she had avoided for so long. But it didn't matter now. She wanted it. She wanted it all. Just by a few words, Bethany Hawke had already brought Clarissa to her knees and remade her into someone else. There was no magic, no sorcery, just her, only her, and it was enough.

"My heart flutters and races when I think of you. My veins burn with fire that outshines the most potent of magics when I look at you. My body tightens, my breath quickens, and I lose control when your touch graces me."

Clarissa looked into her eyes, and saw the entirety herself reflected in them: The want, the desire, the myriad emotions, all mirrored as they were.

They were sisters. But that they were no longer.

"Tell me it's the same for you."

_Yes._

"Tell me that you love me, as I love you the moment your lips sealed over mine, the moment we became utterly, gloriously, one."

_I __love __you._

"Swear it to me."

And she did. She pulled her close and she kissed her. She kissed her fully, deeply, marking without a doubt that she was hers, and the other way round. She moaned with blissful release into her as she, for the first time, experienced her completely and without hesitance. She let her heart run free, feeling the rhythm of their kindred pulses together as she pressed herself against her, the beats of her heart echoing in her ears, drawing out words reserved for her, and her alone.

_I __love __you._

They separated, but no longer because she wanted to run away, but because the air between them rippled and wavered, the mute outside world becoming audible once again. In the heat of their passion, Bethany's control over the spell was forgotten.

There was a long pause, then Bethany began to giggle.

Clarissa felt mirth bubble up in her as well, and she grinned like she never did before. She felt new, remade, and she knew who she had to thank for.

"Wait, they can-" Bethany was silenced as Clarissa kissed her again, the protest melting away as she sighed contentedly.

She withdrew, but held her close. The happiness in Bethany's eyes made tears well in her eyes again. There would be no more restraints, nothing more that can keep them apart. That was the promise she made to her, and with a single kiss on her brow, she vowed never to break it.

Then she turned her head sideways, letting her eyes settle on Isabela and Varric, who were leaning against separate pillars, sheepish grins on their faces.

"You don't need to explain." Varric chuckled, shaking his head. "Your magic kept kept sound from going in, not out."

"We heard everything." Isabela added helpfully, snickering.

Clarissa turned back towards honey-brown eyes, and together, they giggled like mad.

/It felt like a breath whooshing outta me, y'know, only a long-awaited breath.

Btw I got mad ideas for the events after Legacy, just to keep your hopes (and views) [and reviews] up.

Spike: Sexytime? All in due course, my friend... All in due course.

Koona: There ya go :D Thanks for not givin' up on meh!

And to all of you who read my work, THANK YOU! My life again has meaning! Wait that's too much revealed huh... damn...

As always, hope you enjoyed, R&R and keep reading!/


	13. Vixen

Clarissa looked upon the dark halls of the Vimmark caverns, and she smiled. Through the gloom that pervaded it, the chill that permeated it, and the darkness that infected every inch of it, she smiled.

She didn't really know why. She just did. She'd forgotten how long it was since she smiled- a full, uninhibited expression of happiness that seemed to have eluded her for quite some time. As the peculiar, yet welcome feeling tugged at her lips, she felt her eyes mellow out contentedly and the tension from her surroundings drain out of her, a rivulet of cool, running water rushing past her, taking the worries and the sadness away and replacing them with joy like she never felt it before.

Buckled at her side, the golden sword hummed in harmony, vibrating ever so slightly as if sharing in her hard-won merriment. She looked down upon the glistening metal, then shook her head and chuckled. She must be going crazy.

_Well, if this is being crazy, then I want to be stark raving mad. _She mused to herself. Her thoughts, laced with curiosity, took a deeper turn, worming into her mind in search for the object, the _person_ that has caught her fancy, won her over, and made her feel _happy_, of all things.

It didn't take long for her to conjure her face in her mind, a pristine, perfect rendition of everything she loved, cherished and treasured, melding into one and sculpting it into the object of her desire, the apple of her eye, and the one person she pledged herself to.

_Bethany._

She rolled her name around, savoring the feel of it on her tongue, marvelling at how a simple word defined her, completed her, and drew out the very core of her for another to freely take.

If there was one thing in this world that could make her smile, it was her.

_Opening her eyes slowly, reluctantly as warmth enveloped her, the dank, chilling wind stayed by the arm wrapped around her neck. The small groan that accompanied the disheveled movement of tousled jet-black hair made her turn around, meeting squinting brown eyes that exuded unperturbed calmness and blissful ignorance. She tried to move her hand, only to have her fingers graze over the gentle slope that was Bethany's waist. She felt her snuggling against her touch._

_ Chocolate-brown eyes met hers fully, all traces of sleep gone._

_ A smile stretched itself, like a yawning cat, over Bethany's ruffled, yet still gorgeous, features._

_ "Morning."_

Maker, how she wanted every morning to be like that, to have all of Bethany, all to herself, warm body in her embrace, sweet lips not an inch away from her own.

"Someone looks happy." A teasing voice cut in, making Clarissa look sideways and upwards. She shifted slightly as Isabela sat herself down with a long sigh, winking at her as she did so. Her sparkling hazel eyes never left Clarissa as she studiously looked her over. Unnerved, but only slightly, Clarissa grinned and leaned sideways, bumping shoulders with the raunchy Pirate Queen. "Jealous?" She chided, allowing herself to revel in her carefree state of mind while it lasted. Crossing her legs and leaning against the cave wall, Isabela said, "You two are mirror images. You know that? I can't quite fathom how one can be so... happy. And in such a sordid place, no less."

"What can I say?" Clarissa said, eyes taking on a dreamy air. "She _is _a mage."

Isabela looked at her with renewed interest. "Indeed. I hear mages can be quite... crafty." She nudged Clarissa playfully. "You know, a sliver of electricity here, a little spark there. Just enough fire to keep you burning. All... night... long..." She flicked her tongue for theatricality at the last syllable, making Clarissa blush and struggle to hold back a giggle.

"I wouldn't know anything about that." She answered curtly, even as her thoughts turned... sultry? Carnal? _Sensual_?

Isabela latched on to the redness that stained Clarissa's cheeks. "Come now! Your very blood betrays you, Hawke. You must've tried it. You wouldn't be as giggling like a maiden with her first love if you didn't."

The redness spread to her dimples, which moved as she gulped. "What if I am? A maiden in love?" She asked. Even though she knew, without a doubt, that it was Bethany herself that had been making her smile, she just couldn't resist the torrent of thoughts that the Pirate Queen so directly infected her mind with. _Damn you Isabela! _

"In that case, I say you'd better step to and bed that other ravishing young maiden this very instant, just so you know what _love_-" she licked her lower lip slowly, as if to punctuate the word, "-truly feels like."

"Isa_bela_!" Clarissa swatted at taut, coppery skin, her face practically on fire.

"I kid you not, Hawke. It certainly beats skinning Darkspawn all day." Isabela sighed, smiling all the while. "At least you have the chance. Some of us... Well, we have to take matters into our own hands." She winked at her again, looking downwards suggestively. "Y'know what I mean?"

An outrageous thought hit Clarissa. "There's Varric! He's lonely too, isn't he?" She choked mid-sentence, mirth taking hold of her as laughter bubbled up.

"Hawke, that's disgusting! All that... _ughh._" Isabela made to throw up, and Clarissa laughed all the harder.

"He is _not _a logically feasible option. Contrary to popular belief, I do have standards." Isabela held her head high, then giggled like a little girl.

"And who, O Pirate Queen, would you look upon with favour?" Clarissa teased.

"I'm looking at one right now." Isabela's eyes narrowed and darkened.

"Sorry, Izzy. But I am _taken_." Clarissa mused silently how easily the words tumbled out of her mouth. It was the truth, to be sure, but freely admitting it would take some time getting used to. And she _wanted _to get used to it.

"Don't be such a drizzle!" Isabela crooned, sidling closer to Clarissa. "I know we're not in love or anything, but you can treat it as an... _experiment _perhaps." She licked her lower lip again, the glistening moisture catching Clarissa's eye all of a sudden. She felt warmth and comfort cradle her as Isabela's proximity became all the more apparent, the musky scent that shrouded the Pirate Queen slithering through her nostrils, making her face flush and her body tighten. It was unnerving, yet oddly... _arousing._

"I can show you the proper ways of pleasuring a woman. Few have mastered the art, and fewer still have experienced it. It'll be... _educational. _And so... _fun_. Bethany can join in as well. Her magic would be most enticing." She ran a hand down Clarissa's thigh, making her skin tingle with heat.

Clarissa watched, helplessly, as the curvature of Isabela's frame appealed itself to her like a siren's call, luring the innocent astray with sheer beauty. Her body was as taut as a coiled spring, and her lower half buzzed with familiar sensations. Surely it wouldn't hurt to indulge herself, and did she not say that Bethany could join as well?

"No." The single syllable tumbled out of her mouth before she could scream _yes_, clearing her thoughts and dousing the fire in her body. A part of her yearned for its return, but she pushed it away hurriedly. "I'm sorry, Izzy, but your fingers should be more than enough to _handle _yourself." She forced a smile that she hoped didn't look too contrived. A moment of tense silence followed as Isabela visibly froze.

Then she threw her head back and laughed, an unladylike sound only she could produce. It was highly contagious, and soon Clarissa heard herself joining in Isabela's maniacal laughter.

"Oh, Hawke." Isabela managed between lingering bouts of laughing, "She's got you wrapped around her dainty fingers, all right." She fought, failed, and laughed again.

It was a full minute until their display of merriment finally subsided, with Isabela clapping Clarissa on her back. "Oh well, mine dextrous digits," Isabela's hazel eyes drilled with mock seriousness into her right hand, which she held wide open as if examining her fingers, "we shall be seeing each other for quite some time." She announced into her hand, eliciting another guffaw from Clarissa.

Footsteps echoed, followed by giggling and a disproportionately gruff voice proclaiming, "I'm telling, she's _that _desperate." Faintly muffled, but clearly unabashed, laughter tickled Clarissa's ears, making her heart leap at the familiar sound.

"I wonder to Maker on high as to who they're talking about." Isabela pouted. Clarissa began to laugh again, but was stayed by a hand on her shoulder. Isabela got on her feet and looked downwards intently, meeting Clarissa's confused expression. "Next time, try here," Isabela ran the backs of her rough, but shapely nails down her neck, drawing a flowing line on taut, coppery canvas. "and use this." Her tongue snaked out, slowly accentuating a silent _L_, licking thin air in place of soft, inviting skin.

"She'll love it. I know I do." Isabela winked at her, then turned and, with sensual struts designed to seduce and disarm the most chaste of both genders, vanished into the darker corners of the camp without a backward glance. As she withdrew further still, Clarissa thought she heard, "Ah, mine dainty digits. We meet again... Where will I be without you?"

That night, pleasured purrs, soft moans and hushed, husky approvals told Isabela all she needed to know.

_"Keep going."_

/A short one, but one that I hope you enjoyed! I love adding some _spice _to Christmas. For the whole family, of course.

Before I forget, I have a few more short ones coming up, partly because ze storeh demandz it, and partly because my exams are coming up and my holidays are all confiscated by textbooks and evil, evil teachers. They _will _be entertaining. I can guarantee you that much, and I hope I have demonstrated that to some extent, I _can _entertain.

Oh, and Merry Christmas. Guess why I'm not saying Happy New Year as well?/


	14. Killing Blow

He watched in the shadows as creature after creature fell, Darkspawn, dwarves, and demons alike. Cleaved in half, beheaded or downright stabbed through the chest, he couldn't tell from so far away, but what he could tell was that none stood against her and lived.

Except for him, and for that, he felt pride swell in his chest.

He watched as insipid Carta dwarves, blinded by mindless devotion, threw themselves against the woman with the golden sword. He allowed himself a throaty chuckle as the diminutive thralls fell, one by one, to the ancient, runic blade, lost and found after so many decades. He watched as the last of the dwarves fell, the crude barricade they erected only moments ago blasted apart by magic. He watched as the woman with the golden sword was joined by another woman, slightly smaller in stature but oozing with the scent of Mana flowing in her veins. He watched as they, mirror images warrior and mage, descended deeper into the prison and out of his line of sight.

Not that he needed it. His heightened senses told him, with impeccable clarity, what transpired deep beneath him.

He heard the keens of his brethren, Hurlock and Genlock alike as unmistakable sound of steel carving through flesh, bone and armor. Despite the Taint that ran kindred in their veins, he felt no pain for their deaths, nor did he feel anything, anything at all, for their sacrifice. Their deaths were in the name of the Master, and he would die, without hesitation, for him, as they did. The Calling echoed in his ears as the cacophony of screams continued, the soft, yet insistent voice of his Master whispering his name, his purpose into him until the world became mute.

There was no room for remorse. Whatever emotions he had harboured were overwhelmed by the calling of his Master, when he heard the sound of his voice all those years ago, when even the Maker himself forsook him and left him to die with the black blood that flowed through his veins.

He felt nothing. Nothing but hatred. That, his Master deemed worthy for him to keep. That, He allowed him to use against those who opposed them, if for nothing else.

Far below him, he heard the screams lessen, then stop altogether. Curious, he took to the shadows and headed downwards, hiding himself in the dark corners his enemies dared not venture into.

A sudden roar rang out from the antechamber in the middle of the prison, where the seals that held his Master were located. His predatory eyes squinted as he felt a nimbus of Mana drain from the surroundings into the antechamber, into the gargantuan creature that materialized from the very air. Towering above the humans, it brought its taloned fists into the stone floor, glaring at those who would venture so deeply to approach the seals themselves and threaten its never-ending charge to guard them.

Its otherworldly yellow eyes landed on him for a brief second, making him shuffle backwards. Did it see him? _How?_

As he readied his ragged blade, he felt magic clash against magic as the slighter woman engaged the creature, the unending torrent of fire billowing out from her outstretched hands meeting a barrier of solid ice not inches away from the creature's body. For a moment, the onslaught of orange flames enveloped the creature, obscuring his vision of the purple scales, the streamlined ridges and the baleful yellow eyes. Preternatural silence reigned the antechamber as the roaring flames continued its duel with hard, unyielding ice.

Then, with a earth-shattering roar, the creature broke free of the wall of fire, stretching its arms wide in intimidation. If he hadn't been so far away, he could have sworn that he saw a smile on the creature's face. Frost clung in dripping stalactites on the creature's massive forearms. Out of the corner of his limited vision, he saw the female mage, the warrior's sister, lean against a tanned woman, exhaustion evident in her poise.

The creature laid its eyes on the now-defenseless defilers, and balls of purple flame coalesced in its hands. Rumbling emanated from deep within its throat, and he felt similar sounds echo within his throat as he cleared his eyes and watched all the more intently. It would seem the trespassers would not live to come face to face with the Master after all. A pity, he mused. He expected more.

The creature wheeled around once. Then twice. He thought he heard a growl. Not a menacing one. Nor an angered one, but one of … _confusion?_

Its earlier pride vanished from its demeanor as its flickering yellow gaze darted from one end of the antechamber to another, taking as much as it could into view, as if in search for something... _someone._

Then it hit him.

The creature's scaled hands went up to its face in an instant, roaring in pain as it did so. As its fists flailed about in utter disorientation, he spotted the silhouettes of two crossbow bolts, outlined by flickering blue light, embedded with impeccable accuracy in the creature's eyes. _Magebane bolts. _He mused.

The creature was now without sight.

He sheathed his gruesome blade and kept watching. Perhaps these infidels had some fight in them after all. Only one question remained – Where was the warrior?

He found his answer soon enough.

The ridges on the creature's skin made for easy climbing, and the warrior woman, it seemed, was in the process of lifting herself, almost nonchalantly, up the scaly skin of the creature's uneven back.

He froze, then he laughed deep within his throat. Despite the explicit hostility between them, he applauded the warrior woman's manipulative ways. Attacking the demon incarnate head-on would be worse than useless, as exemplified by the magics of fire and ice at its command.

He watched as the warrior woman, with unspoken ferocity, raised the golden blade in all its sparkling glory, a giddy laugh of triumph escaping her lips.

The demon roared as the blade sheathed itself in the exposed hide of the back of its neck, burying itself to the hilt. The startled call from it didn't last long, however, as the blade, with its impressive breadth, completely sealed off the creature's trachea, if it indeed had one. The fires in its eyes dimmed as its grasp on the world surrounding it slipped, its body flickering and shaking as the ethereal realm of the Fade came forth to reclaim it.

He felt the dimming yellow eyes land on him, a meeting of gazes an eternity away from each other. In a brief moment, he saw, or rather, _felt _the vast amount of energy contained within the demon. For centuries, it had stood guard, watching over the seals that held his Master. For centuries, the magic permeating the prison had insinuated itself into the demon.

He felt pride swell within the demon as it readied itself to release the energy, all at once, into its surroundings. Even if it didn't intend a explosive release, the sheer amount of magical energy would overpower even the most powerful of mages, not to mention mere mortals. Even from such a distance away, he doubted if he would survive the ordeal.

Yet, as the demon looked into his eyes, he growled and smiled savagely.

With a dazzling flourish of gold, the warrior woman dislodged the blade from the demon's neck. Drawing momentum from her movements, she brought the sword clean through the flesh, bone and hide that constituted the demon's neck.

As the Fade reclaimed the creature known as Pride, the guardian of the seals, the decapitated head of the creature fell to the stone floor with an unceremonious _thud_. He watched, silently chuckling, as the warrior woman landed next her prey without so much as a sound before the dislodged head, with its frozen snarl, dissolved into nothing.

He watched as the warrior woman, with as wide a smile as she could manage, sheathed her sword. The mage went to her, speaking in inaudible words as their silhouettes melded into one.

Then, as he watched, their lips met.

It meant nothing to him. At least, it should not mean anything to him. He felt his own fists clench and unclench, his already unsteady breathing disrupted even more and his black heart leap in... an emotion he thought he had forgotten, or one that he tried to forget.

_Flowing golden threads, framing a delicate, yet hard-set face that he used to cradle in his hands, reveling in the soft skin his fingers felt._

Before his nails fell from their place; before _he_ himself fell from the Maker's grace.

_Dry, cracked, yet delicious lips he used to claim in passion, in affection, in unbridled possession, pressing himself against the soft curves he had once held, all to himself._

Before his teeth made way to sharp, uneven fangs; before he clad himself in the armor of those fallen before him.

He snarled, at the monster he had become, at the women tempting him, drawing his memories from a forgotten corner to the forefront of the eternal battle in his mind. He tried to hold it back, tried to keep the pain from overwhelming him, but as his deformed fingers reached for the sides of his head, he felt the horns of his helmet.

He felt a tinge of wetness run down his cheek.

He roared and drew his sword, bringing it to rest halfway through a nearby pillar with a shuddering _clang_.

The women turned at the commotion far away, and he hurriedly sidestepped back into the shadows.

They shared silent laughter and turned their backs toward him, their dwarven and human companion watching them as they sidled ever closer together.

With a silent snarl, he retrieved his sword from the aged stone. He had seen enough. He felt his rage lessen as the Master's voice rang within his head, like a calling to home. He had nowhere else to go.

He gave the antechamber a final glance, affirming his suspicions as he felt the seals binding his Master weakening once more. His gaze lingered on the warrior woman and her sister, at their merged bodies as crackling light surrounded them. Their strength was highest when they were together, that he knew after observing them for days. He knew, and now, so did the Master.

Woe betide the day he tore them apart.

/Happy New Year. Mystery solved. "LAME!" Ikr?

Koona: Indeed, Merrill would be an extremely fun character to dote a few chapters upon! But to get her to the Vimmarks from her cozy little Alienage in such short notice, Without Her Ball of Twine, would twist the fabric of the Fanfiction world so profoundly you'd think the end of the world was upon us... figuratively.

It would be the perfect new year present if we could get a few more reviews from those of you who are interested in giving them... I need it for breakfast. Meh, read on and be merry!/


	15. Awakening

The cool, crisp mountain air did little to allay the anxiety that ran rampant in Clarissa's veins. Indeed, her hand never left her sword ever since their arduous hike back to the surface. The seals, the Darkspawn, they were dealt with easily enough. No ghastly apparition of ageless demons could best her blade; Darkspawn fell by the dozen to Bethany's unending assault of ice and fire. The way events passed as they journeyed deeper into the Dwarven prison seemed almost... uneventful; The seals themselves were mostly unguarded, and what meager numbers of Darkspawn that dared confront them were promptly obliterated with little to no effort.

But, as she climbed the endless spiral of stairs that led to the surface, a chill accompanied her. It took root in the back of her mind, spreading down her spine until on some nights, when she kept watch alone, it would consume her in a combined assault of foreboding feelings and chilling wind.

But then, Bethany would wake, roused by the bond between them. She would envelop Clarissa in a warm embrace, wrapping her arms around her neck and calming her with the soothing touch of her voice.

Nevertheless, the chill never left her, like an omen of things to come.

Clarissa shook herself to clear her head as the uneven rock beneath her boots gave way to paved, polished cobblestone. Empty air, painted with a backdrop of deserted blue mountains flanked the lonely walkway, extending on its own to a circular arena that constituted the top of the prison. Tall stone arches stood proudly, if not forlornly, around the arena, supporting a semi-circular dome that cast a yellow light onto the ground it covered. At its center, a brilliant beam of light lanced its way from the bowels of the earth into the vertex of the dome.

The seals had been broken, one by one, by Clarissa. She had cut down every single one of the demonic guardians that guarded the seals. She had held her sword, her golden, enchanted sword, to the binding mechanisms that resided on each level of the prison. By unseen force, it had buried itself to the hilt into the ground, every single time. By way of crackling lightning, it had electrified the very air, every single time, as Clarissa felt the ground shift ever so slightly. The last seal, however, had been different. A beam of light had engulfed the embedded sword, startling her with its blinding intensity as it reached for the heavens.

There was a great sigh, echoing in the stone itself, as if in release. As she looked upon the pillar of shimmering light, a sudden thought, outmatching all other thought, hit her.

_Up._

And now, here she was, able to face her foe, this _Corypheus_, after all this time. With a slight jerk of her head, partly out of nervousness, she motioned for her companions to traverse the walkway.

Clarissa heard Bianca click as a bolt was slid into place.

The sound of unsheathing daggers met her overly sensitive ears.

Her left flank flared with heat, and her right arm suddenly tingled with a sudden drop in temperature.

She advanced. Slowly. Cautiously.

_Let's hope there are no more tricks this time._

_ Don't worry, sister. _The sound of Bethany's voice, although brief, helped still Clarissa's racing heart. Chancing a peek downwards, she expected to see solid rock under the walkway.

There was none.

The stone on which they trod was suspended upon... _nothing?_

"Now I've seen everything." Varric grumbled nonchalantly, following Clarissa's eyes with his own. "Maker be damned, I'm a captain, not a lookout!" Isabela hissed as she averted her eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll catch you." Bethany said, then chuckled softly as Isabela made a face.

They made it across half of the walkway. To Clarissa, the arena couldn't be more farther. As she moved closer, she began to see more details.

Four perches sat at compass points on the arena. Four statues, facing the center of the arena, stood guard, fearless and motionless. It was quite hard to make out, but Clarissa thought she saw wings, like the wings of angels, on the statues' backs. Her sword hummed as they neared the entrance, as if in anticipation.

"Okay..." Murmured Isabela when all four of them finished crossing the walkway and into the bounds of the arena. "I think something's supposed to happen."

Blinking, Clarissa turned towards her. "Like what?"

Isabela shrugged, a sheepish grin colouring her face. "I'm just a captain, Hawke. Burn and pillage and all that, I can manage. Creepy ruins in even creepier mountains involving magic and puzzles? Not so much." She added in a mock _Yar! _Clarissa felt a smile tug at her lips despite their current situation.

"Wait." Varric's gruff voice came from some ways away, drawing their attention. "Those statues around us," he said, taking each one under his intent gaze as he shrank inward thoughtfully. "Their hands are held together."

"So?"

"Well, you usually do that when you are trying to hold something, yes?" Varric rolled his eyes. Clarissa would've thought the four of them would be that much more serious, given the potentially deadly quagmire in front of them. _But no... Nothing can dampen the spirits of Clarissa Hawke and her merry band of misfits._

"If what I'm conjuring up in my head is anything remotely close to the truth, I'd say your flashy sword fits in their grip." Varric observed, raising his eyebrows when he caught the appraising stares his companions favoured him with. "What? Maker's breath, I'm a dwarf. We have an in-born affinity with treasure, statues and evil, evil Darkspawn."

Clarissa sighed heavily. "Well, no harm in trying." She strode towards the northern statue. Upon closer inspection, it was clear to her that, despite its humanoid appearance, the decidedly female figure rendered in stone was anything but. Its upturned features were too smooth, too sublime, too... _perfect_. A pang of strange recognition resonated through her as she approached the female angel, the moving background making it as though she was in flight, not encased in stone, standing guard over a sleepless malice.

The chill returned, stronger than ever. Clarissa pushed it to a desolate corner of her mind.

"You'd think the Grey Wardens would set some of their own to keep tabs on this place." Varric said, scrutinizing the ancient, yet undoubtedly elegant statuette as Clarissa unsheathed her sword. The woman clad in stone, amethyst eyes turned skyward in all regality, seemingly remained oblivious to its golden sheen. As Clarissa cautiously approached the statuette's side, however, she thought she saw the amethyst orbs focus on her.

She froze. "Bethany?"

"Yes, sister?"

"Indulge me as to the possibility of this fine woman here," she gestured towards the statuette, "being able to wield magic?" She'd seen strange things in the deep, dark reaches of the dungeon behind her. A living statuette just waiting for her to relinquish her only weapon to it was principally what she dealt with on a daily basis.

Bethany furrowed her brow for a few moments. "I don't sense anything, but don't take my word for it." She eyed the statuette suspiciously, edging closer to Clarissa's side. "It could be nothing, or it could be that she's one skilled liar."

A thin veil of light came from the eastern horizon, poking at the ridges of the faraway peaks. _Maker be damned, we don't have time._

Under the statuette's cryptic gaze, Clarissa strode forward and, with slow, precise movements, lowered the hilt of the sword into the statuette's expectant grip.

Two things happened.

A blast of magic threw Clarissa backwards. Clarissa felt the alien touch of Mana singe her veins as she braced a hard landing on the stone floor. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she held her head up, just to witness the spectacular scene unfolding before her.

The sword's golden light seemed to take on an infectious tinge, spreading itself from the tips of the statuette's fingers to the ends of her marble-locked hair in a matter of seconds, rippling through the stone and making the amethyst orbs look ever so alive. The sword itself remained unchanged, and as Clarissa looked upon the perfect fashion with which it rested in the statuette's grip, it hit her that the sword _belonged _there.

Then, the statuette crumbled on itself, cracks forming at a breakneck pace, each individual shard of the proud guardian reducing themselves to ever smaller fragments until all that remained of the statuette was a cloud of fine, shimmering mist, hovering in the air. A breathy exhale reverberated in the confines of the arena, and the mist moved, as if propelled by a sigh of relief, towards the center, where an ancient but intact altar housed a spear of luminance, aiming straight to the heavens.

Almost immediately, Clarissa felt a shift around her, a change in the very fabric of the world and... _within _her. She wasn't sure as to what it entailed, but she was certain that it wasn't just her who had felt it.

"Am I... drunk?" Clarissa heard Isabela's less-than-steady voice echo from a thousand leagues away. "My head's buzzing, and in all the right places too." A less-than-mortally afflicted Bethany tended to the Pirate Queen's woozy temperament as Varric grunted and trudged beside Clarissa.

"What in Andraste's flaming knickers was that?" The stout dwarf exclaimed breathlessly, his usual rock-steady composure completely discarded.

Casting her eyes towards the now-empty overlook, Clarissa allowed herself a sigh of relief. "Whatever it was, it worked." She said simply.

A shimmering cross of golden light floated in mid-air, barely moving except for the most miniscule of vibrations. The angelic guardian was nowhere to be found.

_One down, three to go._

The next attempts were made with caution, as all four of them did not wish for another set of bruises to add to the many sores they already possessed. To Isabela and Varric's relief, Bethany's magic proved to be sufficient, creating a ward to guarded against physical influence on their bodies. The iridescent waves of arcane energy passed through them without so much as a nudge.

The same thing, however, could not be said for Clarissa.

Each time her hand lowered her golden blade into the alcove, a twinge of electricity surged through her. It took all of her restraint to not prance backwards as the shock, both ice-cold and white-hot, stabbed like an icy dagger into her very soul. As it did, she felt something change within her, something once dormant that came to life at the stone's touch. It chilled her, and yet made her so alive.

As the last of the angels faded to dust, Clarissa felt it.

_A slumbering giant, bound before the dawn of time._

_ A sleepless malice, caged against his will._

_ A Tainted creature, neither human nor Darkspawn, but rather something far more than those, something that has fallen so low, even Death itself would not, _could _not, claim him._

Clarissa's grip on her sword tightened. The ground beneath her rumbled, as if sharing in her anxiety. She felt a familiar figure step up beside her. Her bracer hand left her sword, reached down, and took Bethany's hand in hers. She felt the end of Bethany's staff, their father's legacy, brush against her back. Magic surged through their intertwined fingers, running through Clarissa's veins and uniting heart, mind, and soul. She held Bethany all the tighter. They can make it through this. They've faced worse nightmares than this.

_Together._

The grinding of dust against leather heels caught on her right flank, and she glimpsed determined hazel eyes through the sheen of her sword. Scythe-like daggers danced their way around skilled, tapered fingers, mirroring the lance of light that shuddered and moved ever upwards, drawing silver circles in the air. The telltale metallic melody of a crossbow bolt, honed to lethal sting, reached Clarissa's ears from behind her. An unmistakable, yet slightly melancholic, chuckle came next.

_It used to be you, me, and Carver. _Clarissa heard Bethany's thoughts as clearly as her own, the connection between them too strong for words to deliver.

"Yes. But this time, where we failed,"Clarissa said, with word and thought, as the beam of light at her fore dimmed. But even as it lost its luminance, a kindred light began to blossom in Clarissa's eyes, fueled by gilded fire.

"_We _shall succeed."

/The leading up to a certain climax in a certain story is always fun to write. I hope it is fun for you to read, as well. Oh, and um... Cliffhanger FTW.

OnePageMemory: Thank you! I'm glad that my paltry rambling can draw you into our little universe!

Spike: Got it yet? :D

Laureola: Thank you for your honesty! I'll have more coming along!

Koona: Once again, thank you for your continued support. Contrary to what lackluster computerized things and stuff and words might have you believe, I REALLY appreciate being appreciated. I wish I can say I 3 you but that'd be taking it a tad too far. Wait... *facepalm*

And, to all of you out there: Join me. Join Clarissa and Bethany as they face what may be their most challenging foe yet, as they face trials that may cost them not only their lives, but also each other.

Oh, and um... R&R! Keep reading! All that good stuff!/


	16. Corypheus

They came by the thousands.

They came with bent swords, ragged daggers and tattered shields; They came with broken bows, split shafts and half-twisted staves; They came with guttural, primal growls, clambering over one another; They came with mindless, selfless abandon, enslaved by the darkness within them that called to them, by the very creature Clarissa had set free but moments ago.

They heralded his arrival with black blood, smeared on the tall stone arches that imprisoned him. They sang of his return with shrill, piercing screams, echoing without end into the deserted mountains. They fell by the hundreds, succumbing to the four intruders who would seek to deny their lord's return.

Still, they came.

Clarissa loosed a flurry of blows at the trio of Hurlocks at her fore, the heat of battle heightening her senses and quickening her movements. The ragtag defense of the Tainted creatures soon failed, and Clarissa found herself lopping off the head of one Hurlock, then another. The final one caught wind of her attack, and barely ducked in time to avoid the gore-splattered blade from taking its head clean off its shoulders. It didn't cheat death for long, though, as Clarissa brought about her finished blow, riding her momentum and turning full circle, stabbing her hapless foe right through its dented steel breastplate.

There was no respite. Another half-dozen Darkspawn had pulled themselves up from the warren of passages beneath the arena and, with their customary snarls of feral anger, started towards the little corner she and her companions had, with sweat and blood, carved from the sea of Darkspawn surrounding them.

"'Bela, get back!" A familiar voice shouted, taut in concentration.

Clarissa spied a shadow of a woman leap backwards through the air, landing behind her just before a searing cone of fire erupted to her right.

Yet another chorus of shrill, pained screams lanced its way into Clarissa's ears as the Darkspawn in the immediate area were cooked alive in their armor.

_Perhaps the flames would keep them at bay._

The fire dissipated just as quickly as it had come into being.

_Perhaps not._

Charging forward, Clarissa braved the horde once more.

"There's no end to them!" Bethany shouted as she readied what little Mana remaining in her body to cast another spell. Beside her, Varric loaded another bolt into Bianca, followed swiftly by a metallic _twang _and the unmistakable gurgle of blood clogging the throat of two distinct Hurlocks. A wayward arrow, loosed by a Genlock hanging from a pillar, grazed Bethany's arm, shattering her concentration and making her cry out in surprise and pain. Almost at once, she felt her vision blur and her senses go numb.

Summoning what power she had left, she purged the venom from her wound. The sizzling black ooze burned in her veins as it was forced out of her system. She sealed the wound, the effort taking more out of her than the bleeding did.

_We can't take this for much longer! _She cast her thoughts towards her sister, wincing as a Hurlock scored a gash on Clarissa's sword arm, the pain echoing through their bond.

_We have to! There's nowhere to run! _Clarissa shot back, carving a line in her assailant's chest from left shoulder to right hip. The creature fell, but not before striking Clarissa across her right cheek with the flat of its blade.

Clarissa tasted blood. Lots of it.

_Come back, Clare! I won't lose you. Not to these monsters! _Bethany cried, letting loose a burst of ice magic that cut Clarissa off from further advance and held the raging torrent of Darkspawn at bay. Brandishing her sword, Clarissa stood rigid as Bethany expended yet more of her Mana mending the gash on her flesh. Her eyes, meeting fatigued brown that threatened to drift shut at any given moment, softened as her heart flared with pain.

_We'll get through this, love. I won't lose you either, and I don't plan to. _Clarissa promised her, forcing determination and forcefulness into her words even as they felt hollow and futile.

Clarissa funneled her strength into Bethany, substituting raw power for Mana. She didn't have much left, but Bethany needed it more than she did. She watched as the jewel on Bethany's staff flared bright once more, as her sister's magic returned to her once more.

Then she turned round to the sight of Isabela holding off half a dozen Hurlocks with her daggers. Even soaked with blood, be it black or red, the curve of her blades never lost its accuracy, nor did they falter when they carved gouges in Tainted flesh. Breathing in deeply, Clarissa joined the bronzed rogue at her side, pulling a preoccupied Hurlock into her sword's embrace.

"We have to make for the entranceway!" Isabela shouted over the din, her exclamation offsetting her parry.

A snarling Hurlock took advantage of the opening and drove its sword diagonally across Isabela's chest.

Gasping in pain, Isabela threw caution to the wind and sidestepped forward, burying her dagger in the overextended assailant. Clarissa pulled her backwards as her momentum carried her ever towards the sniveling horde, and in the process got a quick look at her wound. It was nothing serious, as Isabela's hardened corset protected her flesh from the tip of the jagged edge, but a shallow cut, running from left shoulder to right hip, oozed bright crimson through the torn leather. Cursing herself, Clarissa cast her eyes towards the entrance, relatively untouched by the horde. A scant ten meters were all that stood between them and the Vimmarks.

That, and the swiveling mass of black, Tainted creatures aching to eat them alive.

_Something fast... so fast that these ghouls won't even register before we were through._

She had it.

It was far from perfect, but she had it.

"Varric!" She called to her rear, where the Dwarf perched himself on a elevated slab of stone, nailing Darkspawn left and right. "You still have those smoke arrowheads you told me about?" A Hurlock flanked to her left, only to have its face horribly disfigured by Clarissa's bracer.

"Yeah! Got a plan, Hawke?"

Bethany looked at her quizzically as well, making her recollect her thoughts before continuing. It was going to be costly, but she had no other option. "Get those smoke bolt tips out! We'll need them!"

_Bethany._

_ Yes, sister?_

_ Remember that lesson in Force Magic from Father?_

_ Yes._

_ I need you to use it._

_ I-_

_ No I's. I'll lend you my strength. You need to blast those bastards apart for us to have a chance at escaping._

_ But there won't be much left in me afterward, even with you by my side._

_ I'll be there, love. Even if I have to carry you, I'll be there._

Clarissa felt her sister hesitate, aware of the toll it would take on her. Such a spell, without adequate training, could easily spiral out of control, and all she had in terms of training was that one lesson from their father, taught so many years ago.

Clarissa turned Bethany round and looked into her eyes. She held her gaze as wild, unfocused brown eyes landed on her own.

_Maker on high, from thy gilded crown- _She prayed to the Maker, to Bethany, casting her plea with her thoughts to all that could hear.

She felt her sister calm, joining her as her reeling mind found the dormant power within her once more. _Hear your servants' plight._

_ We behold before us Your forsaken, the vile Darkspawn._

_ We are few; They number many. _Clarissa could hear the despair in Bethany's voice. She pushed on, calling out to the Maker, someone, some_thing, anything._

_ We call to you now, our one, true god._

_ Deliver us from our doom. _Bethany pleaded, her faith taking the place of her fear. It was like so many times when she had prayed with Malcolm, her father, when the Templars would knock on their door.

_ Save us from the darkness._

_ Guide us to your waking light._

_ Join us, as we take from these foul souls their accursed undeath._

Clarissa felt her grip on her sword tighten. The golden light from her blade caught in her sister, her _lover's _eyes as it blazed with renewed fury.

_ And bestow upon them,_

Clarissa felt the very world stand still, the very air being consumed by the unstoppable torrent of Mana. Bethany's eyes cleared, the determination she had hoped to see breaking free of her fear once more.

_Our Maker's fury._

The Vimmarks shook as Bethany unleashed her spell, a raw, unstoppable wave of power following the beckon of her outstretched hands, calling forth the power of heaven itself.

A visible blast of air, carried by the spell's unmatched momentum, slammed into the Darkspawn unlucky enough to be at the front.

A deafening boom, rivaling the clap of thunder, reached Clarissa's ears before her hands did, though they were unable to blot out the distinctive and numerous _cracks _and _snaps _as some of the Darkspawn crumbled as dry leaves would when swept away by an autumn storm.

The arches that loomed over the entranceway shuddered as the tidal wave of raw magic, only slightly diminished, tackled the ancient granite with a strength not seen in centuries. Cracks formed on the aged stone, and the entire construct around them shook, as the mountains themselves quaked in the aftermath of the devastating spell. Soon after, the bare patch of ground exploded with dense white smoke, preceded by sharp metallic twangs that sent bolts, at regular intervals, into the stone.

As it were, countless Darkspawn took the brunt of the magical assault head-on. Even with enclosed ears, she heard the crack of bone and the snap of joints echoing the thunderous report.

Countless more were swatted aside, as if they were mere annoyances to be cast into the deep, gaping darkness that was the Vimmark chasms. The ground where they had once swarmed over was now bare, a wide, empty funnel of vacant stone flanked by dazed Darkspawn too disoriented to swing a sword, mired in a think white blanket of impenetrable smoke.

_This is our chance. _Clarissa's heart leapt as the bridge, in the wake of the spell, remained intact. Looping her arms around Bethany's shoulders, she was puzzled for a moment as the weight on her torso increased tenfold.

Then, she saw her sister, eyes glazed and lips sickly white, kept barely on her feet only by her own arms.

The spell had taken more than she had expected. Her initial elation fled as she watched her sister's eyelids reluctantly drift closed, battling an exhaustion too powerful to overcome. Clarissa felt the bare skin of Bethany's neck, in direct contact with her blood-soaked arm, go cold at a prodigious rate. It was as if the very warmth of her body was expended, robbed from her by the tremendous effort of her spellcasting. She felt the bond between them flag, fluttering as a dying bird would as her soul lost its anchor to hers, drifting apart into darkness.

"No, Bethany! Stay with me!" Clarissa cried, shedding all regard for her life as she enveloped Bethany's mind with her own, shielding it from harm and funneling her already-diminishing reserves into her.

It tugged at her, lyrical strains and tendrils of contact sapping the very warmth from her, making her arms tremble anew and her grip on her sword to slacken. Clarissa felt her heart slow, her vision rim with black, and her mind wander as Bethany unconsciously drew in her very essence. As her vision played tricks on her, she thought she saw a man, hooded and cloaked, standing close by her and beckoning for her to give in, to stop fighting and let herself rest. The bare, hard granite never looked so comforting. While her conscious movement lost their purpose, her mind screamed at her to stop as well, to sever the connection before both of them perished.

_If I let go, she dies. _She told herself. She pressed on, pushing her adamant mind away. She gritted her teeth, summoning what was left in her to make for the stone archway that, at that moment, seemed too far away.

But she was not alone.

A strong, muscled arm wrapped itself around her waist, and she felt a gentle, yet insistent, tug from her left as something... some_one_ half-guided, half-dragged her forwards. Faintly, she was aware of a voice, muddled and indistinct to her failing senses, spurring her on and asking her who was going to lead them back out of these damned mountains if she dared die.

A Hurlock lunged at her, only to be stopped by a bolt square to its head.

She saw the archway now, the smoke clearing and revealing the exit to be only mere meters away, the doorway to their escape, to uncertain safety. She grabbed onto her tether to Bethany with renewed strength, keeping the shadows that would seek to claim her at bay.

_We're almost there, sister. I beg of you, my love, don't let go . _Her mind's voice pleaded with desperation.

Scant inches separated them from the archway, from the stone walkway across the chasm. Surely they would make it.

The walkway itself sprang to life as human and dwarf approached, dismantling into individual pieces of stone. Kept aloft by magic, they rearranged themselves into another construct entirely, misshapen and unique cobblestones and boulders slotting themselves into an impenetrable wall, held together by flowing, glowing blue veins of ancient magic.

Clarissa couldn't believe her eyes.

The newly-formed wall pulsed once, as if with finality, completely closing off her view of the chasm beyond.

"Leaving so soon?" A voice came forth from behind her, making a chill run down her spine at its ominous tone. It, by power of voice alone, brought her heart, so alive, so vibrant from the battle around her, to a sudden halt.

She didn't have to turn round to feel its, _his, _ice cold gaze pierce smoke, steel, flesh and delve into her very soul. She shivered as she felt his eyes graze her shoulder and latch onto the woman she held in her arms.

A word, a name, escaped her lips. A name spoken often enough since her undertaking of this quest. A name that spelled both hatred and dread within her heart. At that moment, as she beheld the strangled whisper that came from her dry throat, she knew which emotion won.

_"Corypheus."_

/I feel like I'm dragging the moment too long 'round here... Dammit, it's a climax, it's fine, right?

_RIGHT?_

Anyway I like 2,000 words or so for one chapter. Let me know if you want regular updates (every 2 weeks or so... Skyrim will be the death of me, or at least my social and writing life), or drawn-out, month-long waiting for a big chapter like the older ones. I for the non-existent life of me cannot decide.

Oh and by the way, I am going to change the rating of this story to M, effective from the next chapter. Guess what that entails?

Nightbrainzz: NOPE. Wardens are still gone, last time I checked. All part of my grand plan for world domination, I assure you.

Hotcutii3: Thanks! Finally, your update's here! There will be more to come! (turns around) Must...try...to...not...play...Skyrim...

Koona: Here's more suspense-building for you! Fear not! My fic has a long way to go, kind of like those drawn-out TV shows, where they stuff meh climaxes after meh climaxes after... you get the idea. Let's just say that the story will wade into the later Acts and the _**end**_ involves the **_66th chapter_** of a certain international bestseller. There, a riddle to keep you entertained, 'til we meet again.

And to all those out there, keeping to the shadows: More is to come. The echoes shall ring forevermore, living on your reviews.

I kid you not.


	17. Dawn

Clarissa didn't move. She didn't dare to, nor could she have moved had she even mustered up the courage to. Chill crept into her, from every pore into the very fiber of her being; Ice pervaded her very soul, making her very veins freeze over, the heat of battle only moments before dissipating as if it was a mere distraction.

She didn't have to turn to confirm her suspicions. The twitch of fear that came from the bond in her mind told her all she needed to know.

_Age-old magic, flowing in his veins, suffusing his very blood._

_ Centuries of imprisonment, chained in darkness, long forgotten._

_ Twisted, blackened blood, fostering a madness few could comprehend._

_ Tormented, forsaken soul, eating away in solitude, decade after decade._

Sight was meaningless when the very fabric of the world warped in his presence. They couldn't hope to best him, not with Isabela maimed and Bethany exhausted beyond her limits. All hatred and anger faded away into nothing as Clarissa grasped the inevitable reality of her predicament.

A grunt sounded from her left as Varric turned round, hefted Bianca and let loose a bolt that flew, straight and true, at the abomination standing proud on the stone altar. It was an impeccable shot. Clarissa turned round, silently hoping against hope that the bolt would find its mark.

It ground to a halt not an inch from Corypheus's forehead.

The Tevinter mage smiled at the dwarf's antics. "What fun." He said, simply, perhaps with a hint of amusement. For a long, drawn-out moment, the very air stilled as Darkspawn and dwarf glared into one another's eyes, perhaps even into their very souls.

Then Corypheus smiled, the deformed flesh on his face creasing in a ragged approximation of glee, and waved his hand once.

Bianca was wrenched from Varric's hand with otherworldly force, and from the pained hiss that escaped Varric's lips, it was all but capable to tear his trigger finger away with the weapon itself. It came to rest in mid-air, before taloned hands that have had its semblance of humanity torn from it by the ages. Hate seethed from Varric's eyes. Clarissa had never before seen him consumed with such fury.

"Try all you want, dwarf. Believe it or not, such attempts on my life are all but common in my day." Corypheus said, almost nonchalantly. His voice did not surprise Clarissa: A raspy, weathered mimicry of a man mercilessly tormented by time. Under other circumstances, Clarissa would have described his voice as a benevolent one, perhaps even the voice of a contented old man who has made his peace with the world. But not this voice. This voice carried with it the biting cold of deep winter and a strange sense of regality. It reeked of darkness.

"But, of course, such a rude intrusion cannot go unpunished." Corypheus said, the mad tone of a sadist colouring his words. By way of unseen magic, the bolt fired from Bianca, once intended for Corypheus, turned towards the general direction of Clarissa and her companions.

Varric stiffened, then stood straight, as if readying himself for whatever Corypheus hurled at him. "So you haven't the balls to match blade for blade, and you hide behind your fancy magic." He spat.

The air around Corypheus shifted ever so much as anger, manifested into heat, heated the air around him. "Oh, I can see what goes on in that head of yours, dwarf. And rest assured, what I have in my own head is much more fun."

Crackles of magic ran through Bianca, rivulets of magic running its course along the seams of the brass crossbow. Varric's eyes widened. _Surely he wouldn't... _Clarissa thought.

Bianca unraveled itself faster than the eye could see, cogs and nails and plate steel coming apart in a gruesome disassembling. The runes on her richly-ornamented wood, glistening with oil and polished with great care, flashed once, brightly, before they themselves were burned away. The bowstring, unable to weather the tension of the sinewy curve, snapped with a pronounced _twang._

Clarissa didn't have to look to see Varric's tortured expression, nor did she have to crane her head to see the tears that fled his eyes.

But he was far from done.

With inhuman speed, the bolt held in place by Corypheus's magic flew forward.

Only a split second later, a strangled gasp came from Clarissa's right.

_Isabela._

Clarissa turned around just in time to see the Pirate Queen collapse unceremoniously. Her hand was, strangely, still held at an awkward position to her stomach, where the wound from the Hurlock was at its deepest.

Then she saw that the bolt had been aimed square at the center of Isabela's hand, piercing the flesh entirely and diving tip-first into her belly.

Ragged breathing surfaced from Isabela's throat, reflecting pain that need not be put into words, but put into visceral colour as blood welled from her hand _and _her stomach.

The embedded arrow, halfway into her flesh, squirmed, as if of its own accord, pushing even further into the agonized woman.

A breathless scream escaped Isabela's lips before her hazel eyes went out. Varric rushed to her, panic visibly affecting his every movement. His duster was off his back, wrenched into a bundle and pressed against Isabela's wound in less than a second.

Amidst all that, Corypheus chuckled. "Now, that is what I would deem _proper_ punishment. Fear not, dwarf, for she is alive, and the agony will persist, for every moment that she still draws breath,"

And then, lastly, perhaps inevitably, Clarissa's eyes locked with Corypheus's ice cold gaze.

Even from a distance, Corypheus was of formidable height, even for a man... a _creature_, of his age. One of the telltale signs of his age was the tufts of white on his twisted scalp, barely noticeable amidst the sea of deformed flesh, lining his right cheek in a grotesque fashion. His skin was pockmarked, marred with scars, cavities and yet more misplaced flesh, only partly covered in a ragged, torn robe that resembled the robes that Clarissa had only seen a chance number of times – the robes of a Tevinter Magister.

Taking the initiative, she forced as much fury she could into her voice and let out a venomous hiss. "By the name of the Maker on high, I will put you down like the beast you are." She swore, pushing away the hollow feeling that lingered in her mouth after the words left her.

Corypheus, for his part, was not in the least perturbed. "Oh, I don't doubt that, _Hawke the elder_." He said.

Clarissa froze. She recognized the way he called her. Only one other person had named her in that fashion.

"It pains me to see that the one thing we, the first of the Tevinter Magisters, have sought after for so long being laid onto a mere _mortal_, and a mortal that knows nothing of its significance either." Corypheus said, his gaze lingering upon Clarissa with a curious expression she couldn't quite decipher. Was it derision? Hatred?

Of all things, the one thing that came to mind was... _reverence_. _Why? _She mused to herself, the weight on her right shoulder forgotten as she lost herself deep in thought.

"Ah," The sudden exclamation brought Clarissa back to the present, to the Tainted mage not fifty meters away from her. "the pure, pristine magic of love." Corypheus said as Clarissa's heart skipped a beat, strengthening the walls she erected around Bethany's consciousness. "I don't know what you're talking about." She denied, feebly.

He chuckled drily. "You needn't dodge and deny, _Clarissa_. Not when the truth within you burns so brightly, it rivals the glory of the Golden City itself." His eyes drifted skyward, taking on a dreamy haze. "I still remember the moment we beheld it. The Maker's sanctum. The city etched in gold. The very reality of heaven itself." His gaze returned to her, this time containing a very different emotion – pity. "If only you could see beyond the finite, mortal chains that she," He gestured at Bethany's half-limp body, "has bound you in. You can have so... so much more."

Deep within her mind, Clarissa felt the connection between her and her sister stir. Flickers of thought began to echo across their intimate link. _She's coming back. _Clarissa thought. She only needed to hold Corypheus off for a little longer. At least, between the two of them, they would stand a better chance at defeating the abomination that stood before them.

As the bond between them flared to life, Clarissa felt old hatreds resurface. "The words you speak would mean nothing to you, _Darkspawn_, if you've but had a taste of what you speak of." She spat back, venom lacing her every word.

Corypheus sneered, the scars and growths on his deformed face shifting in its place. "Such petty, trivial emotions are well beneath me. I cast them aside the moment I crossed the doorstep into the Maker's hall."

Clarissa glared at him with an intensity that could melt steel. "And look where it got you." She averted her eyes in a display of disgust. "Thedas would be a better place with my blade in your gut."

Corypheus's eyes narrowed dangerously, all other emotion replaced by seething anger. "You are adamant, Hawke the elder, that much is clear. 'Tis a pity that your resolve can be crushed so easily."

Clarissa's right hand reached downward, slowly, surely, freeing her golden sword from its sheath with motion that belied both strength and grace. Her eyes never left Corypheus. "Try me." She said, the hollow ring of the tip of her sword leaving its sheath accentuating her challenge.

"All in due time, Hawke the elder. All in due time." Corypheus said. "If you'd merely see past the mundane, you would have power of likes you have never before seen. Fortunately for you, I can show you the way."

A bolt of caution lanced its way through Clarissa's mind.

"But firstly, let us remove that which distracts you from your path." He said simply.

_That which distra-_

_ No._

As fast as she was to understand the meaning of his words, she was too slow.

Quick as lightning, Bethany was taken from her by unseen claws, her body flying through the air, tethered and guided by sightless, soundless magic. A horrible chill ran down Clarissa's spine as she landed, on her knees, on the stone altar that once imprisoned her foe.

"Bethany!" She cried, charging forward, heedless of the ancient Darkspawn that was barring her way. To her surprise, Corypheus didn't move at all.

Clarissa ran headlong into an impenetrable barrier halfway to the altar, knocking her to the ground and driving the wind out of her lungs. A shimmering veil of air blocked her way, held together by powerful magic. It might as well have been a stone wall.

Her eyes widened in horror as she saw Corypheus approach her sister, her _lover_ with all the purpose of premeditated murder.

_Bethany, move!_

_I can't..._

_ You have to, my love! You-_

What she saw next sent fear, true, absolute fear coursing through her in an unstoppable torrent.

Corypheus held a dagger in his hands, a bent, twisted piece of metal whose tip gleamed in the moonlight. Veins of black ran along the length of the jagged metal, coating the edge of the blade with a dark, oozing substance that Clarissa could not, dared not, venture a guess at.

A drop of the liquid escaped the blade and landed on the stone floor with a hiss, bubbling, as if impatient. She had seen it before, oozing from the wounds she inflicted on Hurlock and Genlock alike.

Darkspawn blood.

With renewed urgency and desperation, she hammered against the wall of magic that separated her from Bethany. With each impact, the fire in her heart dimmed. With each passing second, her strength left her, draining from her until all that was left was... nothing. Nothing at all.

_This can't be happening. Not again._

The tall, deformed creature took a step towards Bethany, all time in the world coming to a standstill as Clarissa's heart stopped. True despair hit her, like a sword thrusting into her chest, spearing her heart and making it bleed in more ways than one. She was too late.

Faintly, she saw Bethany's eyes flicker, saw her brown eyes catch the light, mired in confusion and utter fear.

_Clarissa? Where are you?_

_ I love you. I love you so much._

_ What's happening?_

_ I'm sorry._

One slash was all it took.

Bethany's eyes sprang open, from pain, from surprise, from the feeling of the Tainted blade cutting into her flesh, Clarissa could not tell. Tears flooded her eyes, mirroring the hopelessness she felt coursing through her veins. The pain was almost unbearable as her heart splintered, fracturing into the fragments that echoed of that ill-fated day in Darktown.

For a few moments, Bethany was motionless. Clarissa dared not draw breath.

Then the convulsions began.

"NO!" Clarissa screamed as Bethany writhed in pain, the shock on her face rewritten into all-consuming, all-powerful agony. At that instant, Clarissa felt a foreign presence preside over the precarious bond she maintained with her sister. She dove at it with what strength she had left, trying to shelter Bethany once more. But the more she fought, the harder and deeper the shadow reached into her sister's consciousness, seeking to exert its will over her. It was thoroughly dark to Clarissa's mind, a writhing, screaming apparition of inky black that was without shape or form. She felt its screams overwhelm her mind's voice, forcing her to retreat deep within herself, where her only companion was guilt, pain and endless heartbreak. It took every ounce of her will to stop herself from plunging her sword into her own heart there and then, even though she doubted the pain of such an act could match the burning agony there.

Clarissa could not bear to watch as the Taint worked its way into the one she loved. Veins of black pulsed under the silken skin she once caressed between her fingers, turning it pale and sickly, a shade of its former lustre. Swirling, writhing darkness claimed her brown eyes, the windows to her soul caving to the unstoppable darkness that staked its claim on her, the darkness that _she _had a hand in allowing.

"_Why?" _She cried out with word and thought, bringing herself to the seat of the Maker with power of will alone. She hammered on stone, on marble, on the Golden City's very gates, screaming her agony, her heartbreak to the one god that was lord over them all. She screamed and screamed until no breath escaped her, until the mailed gauntlets on her hand cut into her flesh, until her eyes wept nothing but blood. She cried for help, for solace, for a relief from her pain, but most of all for an answer.

_"Why?"_

There was no answer.

There was nothing, but darkness, the same darkness that took all that she loved from her.

She had already lost her once. And now, time and again, they have been torn apart.

She resigned, feeling her mind go painfully blank and allowing the blackness to consume her. For a moment that seemed like eternity, she was sure that it has claimed her.

And then, there was light. A light so faint, it almost went unnoticed.

She felt herself tugged away, felt the gates open, felt her body, her soul being enveloped in a soothing warmth that tried to comfort her, to will her to live, to endure, to stand up again and fight.

She tried to push it away, to let herself sink under the grief, be buried under her guilt. To no one, she said, _There's no living without her._

_ I know._

_ Then why? Why did you just stand by and watch and let him take Bethany away?_

_ Because it's not too late._

_ It _is_. The curse you have afflicted us with for our pride has taken her. And you did _nothing.

_Believe me, Clarissa, as I believed in you._

_ I can't._ Could she? Could she dare to?_ The pain is too great._

_ Yes, it is. Because it comes from you. Don't let you blind yourself. I entrusted her to you, and you loved her, perhaps even more than I did._

_ And yet I still failed. Time and again._

_ Don't let your heart hold you back. All is not lost. Don't let love blind you from the world around you._

The warmth that suffused her mind led her, unwillingly, to the truth. It called to her, beckoned for her to return, promising her a way out. Somehow, its influence rang in her memories, like the tolling of a bell, echoing into the deep recesses of her thoughts over five years ago. The words sounded... familiar. The _voice _was familiar. For a moment, she recalled a field of glowing, golden stalks, swaying with the wind in the most gentle of movements. For a moment, she thought she felt a person, standing beside her, keeping the darkness at bay.

_Father?_

The chilling winds of the Vimmarks bit into her once again, pulling her back into reality stinging her when it grazed the line of moisture streaming down her cheeks. Her sword lay beside her, its golden sheen forcing her to blink away the veil of blurry tears that clouded her eyes.

Warily, she retrieved the golden blade from the cold stone. Her breathing hitched when her eyes beheld the sight of a limp body lying motionless on a marble pedestal, a tall, sinister shadow cast over it. She felt the chill, the pain and the feeling of her heart rent into a thousand pieces surface once more, but she couldn't look away.

Bethany twitched.

Clarissa's eyes widened. _She's alive!_

The most miniscule of movements restored Clarissa's hopes, if only by a small amount. Impatience bubbled up inside her as her hearing returned to her, revealing to her the laboured gasps that emanated from her sister as she thrashed about on the stone floor, battling an unseen enemy.

_Hold on, Bethany! _She cried out with her thoughts when the bond between them flagged and waned. _I love you, and I won't let go. _She vowed.

Her grip on her sword tightened as she met the ice-cold eyes of the lone abomination standing in her way.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd given up, young one." Corypheus said, the indifference in his tone making Clarissa's knuckles go white with fury. He, be he man or Darkspawn, would pay for what he has done.

"Do not play coy with me, you heartless bastard," Clarissa spat, "get out of my way before I remove you from it." Fury shrouded her every thought, and she felt the muscles in her arms come to life. She let the tip of her sword draw a line in the stone, punctuating her words.

The screech of metal against rock never seemed so menacing.

"Do not think you to be my equal, young one," Corypheus intoned dangerously, sheathing his talon-like hands in a nimbus of writhing green fire, "I am the chosen of the Firstborn of the Old Gods, the servant of Lord Dumat himself!"

Clarissa felt the heat of the flames lick at her, even from such a distance. "I have braved the gates of the Golden City. I have aspired to the throne of heaven. With my master at my side, I am invincible! None can match me!"

"Perhaps you are, Corypheus." Clarissa's voice took on a low tone, the fire in her eyes transcending the ethereal and burning away every last trace of doubt and fear. She let her eyes drop, dismissing the expression of apparent shock on her foe's twisted face, disregarding all else as they found the metallic cast on her left arm. She allowed herself a small smile as the intricate lines of eagle and hawk shone with unparalleled brilliance, the emblazoned seal filling her with profound serenity.

She looked upon Bethany once more, and she thought she saw brown eyes meeting her gaze, adamant even in the face of death.

"But I'm still coming for you." Clarissa said simply, to the both of them.

Corypheus, for his part, snarled and let loose with his magical assault, a billowing torrent of glowing green fire lancing towards her, threatening to consume her in its depths.

Clarissa let the pent-up energy, the power of a thousand suns, run into her left palm as she raised her left arm. The seal on her bracer flared as a power akin to, perhaps even more powerful than, Mana rushed through it, bent to the warrior woman's will.

Like a blade running its course through canvas, the horizontal pillar of flame split apart mere inches before Clarissa's outstretched hand. The tip of her blade delved into the dissecting flames, the otherworldly metal weathering the magical fire with ease.

And through all that, Clarissa's eyes were focused on Corypheus, violet-blue alight with heavenly white piercing the void black of the Tevinter mage. She saw him blanch, a momentary fear escaping his facade.

She took a step forward, then another. The green tidal wave parted as she moved slowly, but surely, forward. She saw his face contort as he funneled yet more of his unnatural strength into his spell, throwing everything he had at her.

She sneered, because she was able to, because his efforts made no difference.

She took a step forward, then another. The distance between them closed, stride after stride. Faintly, she was aware of Varric, dragging the mortally injured Isabela off to the side. The redirected fire licked at their retreating silhouette and Clarissa, with a half-hearted flick of her thoughts, shielded them from harm. It was well within her power, and she felt unaccustomed to the ease of it all. It almost... strange.

The torrent of flames stopped as she closed the remaining distance between her and Corypheus, the latter forgoing the magic assault in favour of a sudden, desperate lunge with his dagger, hoping to catch Clarissa off guard.

Clarissa sidestepped the bloodied edge with all the agility of a hawk on the hunt, dancing away from the arcing strokes while she harried her prey, glaring pointedly into Corypheus's eyes. Pressing the attack, Corypheus feinted to her right, then brought the dagger round the other side, intending to carve a deep gouge across her chest. His eyes glinted with the light of savage victory as he saw her sword make no move to block the attack.

His surprise was profound when he felt his attack come to an abrupt halt, the black steel clashing against metal.

He had forgotten about Clarissa's bracer and, during his all-out attack, had left his defense wide open. He grunted in pain as Clarissa's sword, alight with translucent flames, came to rest against his neck.

"So," Corypheus said, his leaning away from the burning edge giving his voice a strangled air. "it's true. It really is true. You truly are sent by the Maker himself." His eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.

"You have said more than enough, _Darkspawn_. You are nothing but a beast, a caged animal to be put down." Clarissa snapped, voice confident and mighty, as if borne upon the wind itself. As the words rang out, she felt a different sense of power come over her. Unlike the seething, uncontrollable rage and fury that fueled her determination, the sensation that enveloped her this time was one of judgment, a sense of righteousness that calmed her mind, smoothing the ragged edges of her hatred. She wasn't only doing this for the revenge that boiled in her veins, or for the bloodlust that guided her blade and unlocked the dormant magic within her. It wasn't even for Bethany. Not entirely, at least. "The world is well rid of you." She said, the words resonating with her being with startling magnitude.

_But... _A part of her called out to her. A primal sect of her thoughts, burning with the desire for revenge.

Corypheus snorted, eyes ever indignant. "I am at your whim, or so it seems," He pressed his neck into the blade without as much as a grimace, daring her to shift in the slightest of directions, to bring the honed edge clean through his throat in one, fell stroke. "Go on."

Clarissa grinned and backed away.

"That would be a mere slap on your hands, for what you have done."

She withdrew from the frowning Darkspawn until a blade's length separated them.

Then, she allowed the screaming, seething part of her mind, sick with vengeance and parched with a thirst only unending fire could quench, freedom.

Her gaze never wavered as the six-foot-tall Darkspawn, the twisted, Tainted Tevinter mage called Corypheus, burst into spontaneous flame.

Her gaze never wavered as a pained grunt escaped Corypheus's throat. He was resilient; she gave him, _it_, that much.

Her eyes were impartial, utterly without emotion as his eyes locked onto hers, pain, hate and perhaps a tad of fear awash with reflected light.

The smile never left her lips, even as Corypheus fell onto his knees, landing on all fours in an effort to remain upright. What meager flesh that was on him now served to feed the flickering, blue halo around him, eating through the Taint that permeated the very fiber of his being.

She watched. She smiled. She stood there, a living statuette, blade in her right hand, flames coiling and uncoiling, running serpentine trails upon the golden metal;

She inhaled. She exhaled. She stood there, utterly emotionless, bracer on her left arm, the seal upon it flaring with pristine brilliance borne of a light from the heavens themselves.

_Join me, as I cleanse this wretched soul of the curse it has borne since the beginning of time._

With movements that bespoke a hidden desperation, Corypheus lifted his head. His ice-cold gaze, wreathed in writhing flames that drained the life from him, passed from Clarissa to something behind her, something level to the ground.

_Bethany._

She thought she saw a flicker of malice in his eyes, a fleeting moment of mysterious pride, before the fire consumed him and he fell to the cold, unyielding stone floor, the crackling of the flames dying out as he exhaled his final breath.

Clarissa thought she felt a sliver of magic pass her by.

She whirled round.

Just in time to see Bethany writhe once, and scream.

/I know, I know it's the climax and all that jazz. I'm sorry it took me so long.

_Varric: Ain't that the goddamn truth._

Moi: Shaddap.

_Varric: Saw you frolicking around with a certain huntress called Aela a few days ago..._

_Clarissa + Bethany: WHAT_

Moi: ...

There, I confess. But I swear to the Eight Div-... oh wait, God (Right, that's the one), I swear to God school had some part to do with it. They have it in for me, I'm tellin' ya.

Hotcutii: Easy mode FTW. *Looks at typed sentence* Great, now I sound like a total n00b.

Spike: More moments to come!

Koona: I hope I've lived up to "epic fight scenes". *Twitches in place nervously* In any case, I think these kinda poetic descriptions are what set me apart from the others in my EXTREMELY specific category. Needless to say, there are heaps of people out there who are better at writing than me. *Goes away to console wounded pride*

to the others out there: May the shadows keep you. (See what I did there, Skyrim-ites...?...? Eh -.-) If you liked it, pleasex10 come forth and review! I don't bite! Usually.../


	18. Lies

She was on her in seconds, the metallic _clang_ of her sword hitting the ground drowned out by agonized shouts and pained screams. She tried to keep her in place, to prevent her violent spasms from injuring herself, pinning her flailing arms to the floor by the wrists and straddling her with her legs to keep them from kicking into the air.

It did little to stem the screaming.

"Bethany!" Clarissa shouted over her sister's din, her hands trembling to maintain the hold she had on her arms. The tighter she held her, the more powerful her spasms became. It was as if she was struggling against her.

"Don't fight me! You'll hurt yourself!" Clarissa shouted again, trying but failing to purge the urgency and the fear from her voice.

Either Bethany did not hear her, or she did not want to stop, because at her words, a tremor ran through her from head to toe, and an unexpected explosion of magic knocked Clarissa backwards and skywards, lifting her a few feet above the ground and forcing the air out of her lungs. She braced her landing with her shoulder, and she felt something snap as the stone, cold and unyielding, rammed into her. Crimson blotches rimmed her eyes, and a lance of throbbing pain buried itself along her arm.

She ignored the pain and crawled over to Bethany, whose limbs have somehow stopped their convulsions. The screams have also subsided, resigning to a series of weak, helpless moans as whatever ailed her persisted.

"Bethany..." Clarissa murmured, grabbing hold of her trembling arms. Despair threatened to overwhelm her as she felt the cold skin, devoid of warmth, of life. She felt the arm push her away feebly, powerlessly.

_She doesn't recognize me._

"It's me." Clarissa said, repeating the two words over and over. Taking a deep breath, she ventured forth with her mind, treading the almost non-existent path of their link that led into Bethany's mind.

"Don't shut me out," She said, remembering what she had said to her that night, when she was at her lowest. "Please."

Fluttering eyes opened, revealing a murky brown that Clarissa almost did not recognize. It was as if the very colour of her eyes were twisted, imbued with the darkness that had claimed her but moments ago.

Her mouth moved, ever so slightly. Clarissa moved closer, wincing with pain as the broken bone poked at her flesh.

"I love you." Bethany whispered. Over and over, she whispered. Clarissa could not miss the finality in her tone, even though the spoken words were as soft as slivers of wind.

"Then let me in. Let me help you." Clarissa said, fighting the tears. She knew that if they started to fall, they wouldn't stop.

"I can't." She whispered. Her eyes rolled and she clamped her eyelids shut as another wave of agony racked her. Adamant, Clarissa probed with her mind once more, determined to break down the walls Bethany had erected around herself to strike at whatever lay within.

Two words, told with mind and voice, told her all that she needed to know.

_"He's here."_

Clarissa gritted her teeth. Hasn't he done enough? Her heart sent pain coursing through her veins as she saw the bright rivulets of moisture running from Bethany's eyes down her pallored cheeks.

"Yes, you can. Focus on me, on my voice. I'm here, and I'll always be here." Clarissa said frantically, feeling her slip. She needed something more, something to anchor her while she fought for her.

"Focus on this." Clarissa said softly, leaning in.

A sliver of electricity passed through them both as their lips touched, and Clarissa delved into the darkness that pervaded Bethany's mind.

_She saw a man, a robed man, backed turned to her, surrounded by a faint light that repelled the blackness that surrounded them both;_

_ She saw a cage, an intangible cage, door held shut by the man. Something flickered within the cage, dark as the darkness that enveloped it._

_ She trod upon solid darkness, putrid, rippling darkness that produced a tremor whenever her boots touched it. Somewhere far away, she heard the sobs of a young girl._

_ She held her sword high, the light from it beating back the shadows, two opposites locked in eternal conflict as she walked cautiously forward, approaching the strange visage._

_ Her footsteps must have been taken note of, because the robed man bid the attention he had on the cage cease and turned towards her._

_ Her gasp was inaudible yet apparent._

_ Her eyes ran up, then down, taking in every detail as she questioned her very sight:_

_ Eyes that gleamed like snow in sunlight, bright and lively. It was different, yet unmistakable;_

_ A face that was leaner, sharper, without blemishes or deformations, indicative of a man in his prime. Though what she remembered was vastly different, it was unmistakable;_

_ Robes that were tailored to perfectly fit a man of his stature, smooth and flowing. It had the hue of a dark grey, with the gilded symbol of the Tevinter Imperium emblazoned on its center. Clarissa would've recognized it anywhere, even had it been in rags when she first laid eyes upon it._

_ "Corypheus." She said, soundlessly. She had expected him, but not in such a form. The shock in her voice was apparent._

_ "Please, call me Corinth," The man said, in a rasping voice that, oddly, carried with it a sense of regality. But this time, the voice reminded Clarissa of an old man, well past his prime. It possessed a mellow, contented quality that Clarissa was not accustomed to, considering the memory she had of the man in front of him. Nevertheless, her guard slipped further as she noticed his eyes, which shone with an exhaustion that rivaled her own, "I was wondering when you'd finally find me. I couldn't have held out for long."_

_ Clarissa couldn't help narrowing her eyes in confusion. "Give me one good reason not to kill you right here, right now." She growled, injecting as much conviction into the threat as she could._

_ Corinth's eyes stooped in shame, a shade of regret tinging his tall form. "If I die, she dies." He said simply._

_ "Liar." Clarissa spat. It was trickery. Surely it had to be trickery. The muscles on her sword arm twitched._

_ "Please, Hawke the elder, hear my explanation before you do anything rash."_

_ "My sister does not have the luxury of waiting until you've finished with this charade."_

_ "She does. I saw to that."_

_ "How?"_

_ He sidestepped, presenting the entirety of the cage behind him. "I was one of the first," he began, the tone of his voice slipping back to the quality of an old storyteller recounting a tale. "One of the first to witness the splendour of the Maker's hall. This, you know to be true."_

_ "I was the origin of the Taint, myself and my fellow Magisters. We were the first to succumb to His punishment. As it flowed in our veins, we sought to escape it, but could not. Now, it and I are no longer separate."_

_ "We have the power to spread the Taint and, spurred by madness, we did. We heard the call of the Old Gods and, borne of despair, we devoted ourselves to them."_

_ She felt her sword unconsciously lower itself. She was transfixed, by word or by thought, she no longer knew. If this _was _indeed an elaborate lie, then she has already fallen for it, hook, line and sinker._

_ "We had a calling of our own, and thousands heeded our beckons. They became enslaved to us, their submission brought to bear by the very Taint that runs in your sister's blood, as well as mine." He explained. Clarissa gritted her teeth._

_ "The Taint that _you _infected her with." She felt helpless tears rim her eyes, threatening once again to burst free._

_ "There's no excuse for what I've done. But what I can at least do is to lessen the burden, for you and for her." He raised an open hand towards the shimmering image of the cage behind him._

_ "As we were granted the power to release the dark nature of men, we were also granted the power to contain it. It is an imperfect art, and one that we practiced only rarely," A flash of translucent energy appeared in his outstretched palm, and the bars of the cage shimmered vividly in response. "But it can be done."_

_ "The Taint that resides within your sister will not take her life."_

_ "But still it resides."_

_ "Still, it resides." He agreed._

_ Slowly, she took a step towards the cage, then another. The Tevinter mage, somehow no longer marred by the Taint, stepped aside to allow her passage. Squinting, she tried to look past the flickering mist that clouded the cage, leaning ever forward._

_ She pranced backwards with alarm as a dark shape lunged at her, nearly invisible against the grim landscape. It loosed a feral snarl, tearing at the bars that held it captive with a zeal that could only be born of a deep, ancient hatred even Clarissa could not, with all her experiences, comprehend. She turned towards Cory- no, Corinth,- who stood with his head bowed, blue eyes downcast with apologetic sincerity._

_ "How do I know this is not some trick of yours to coax me into letting you live?"_

_ "There is nothing more I can do to convince you. The monster that caused you great harm just moments before has changed, Hawke the elder."_

_ "_I _have changed."_

_ "Why?"_

_ The single word touched a nerve._

_ "Why? You ask me why, Clarissa?" He said, emotion animating his words. "It's because of the connection you two have between each other."_

_ "When I first escaped my body and fled into hers, she fought me at every turn. She battled me with a strength of will I have never seen before, discarding thoughts such as hate, fury, even survival. Curious, and impatient to take her body as mine own, I sought to find out the source of such a powerful defense."_

_ He looked at her then, with eyes that still told of disbelief, as if he had beheld that source only moments ago._

_ "What I found was you," He said, "I found a woman crowned by fire, garbed in white light, balanced upon her hands the might of heaven itself, a shining star on her left hand, a fiery crucifix grasped firmly in her right."_

_ "But more than that, more than what I saw with my mind's eye, I _felt _her importance to you. I felt the connection between the two of you, an unbreakable bond born of the strongest emotion I've ever seen or known."_

_ He looked directly at her and saw the truth reflected in her eyes, shimmering in the gatherings of moisture in them, rolling down her cheeks like trails of diamond._

_ "In life, she protected you, felt safe when she was with you. She trusted you, loved you with all her heart. Even in almost certain death, her first and final thought was invariably you," he said, dropping eye contact, "I had that... once." he sounded as if fighting a great many emotions of his own._

_ Clarissa felt her cling onto her, drawing her closer, pressing their lips together, holding her tighter and tighter as her lifeline, knowing, _trusting _that it will not break, not falter, and that it will always love her as she did._

_ "What will become of her? Will she be the same?" She asked, almost afraid to hear the answer._

_ "I can do little more than deny the Taint its claim over her. It is a virulent plague, and one that cannot be easily shaken. She will retain her sanity and her life. Anything beyond that is beyond my control. The Grey Wardens, as you name them, will know more."_

_ "But that's a death sentence in itself! One does not become a Grey Warden and retain their normal life!" She cried, refusing to take a step back._

_ "Don't you see? The Taint may not harm her in any significant way, but it will certainly try. The nightmares the Wardens are plagued with, your sister will share in them as well. There lies a path into madness, Taint or no Taint. She will need their help, if only to understand the transition."_

_ "What's more, the people around you, from where you reside now, will certainly not accept her. She will be shunned, feared, even hated. It's not the place for her, even as it is not the place for a twisted being such as I."_

_ Her sword flared with light as anger surged through her. Whipping the edge upwards, she let it rest against the mage's throat, silencing him. How she wanted to press forward, to cave in to the fire that seared and burned her heart and her mind. How she wanted to destroy him, here and now, for everything that he has done._

Not everything. _A voice deep inside her head told her, softly, consolingly._

_ If what he said was true, then he's the only thing keeping her love, her Bethany alive._

_ "I really should kill you now. It was all your doing. It was all your damned fault!" She screamed against him, tears flowing freely down her face. But deep inside, she believed him. She believed him because she had seen what the Taint did to the ones that she loved, and she believed him because in his eyes, she didn't see it within him. Not anymore._

_ "But no. Death would be far too lenient a punishment for you." She hissed, twisting the blade in her hands. "You will stay here, until the end of time if need be. You will keep my sister alive. You will stop this, this monster from getting the better of her. That will be your penance, even if it kills you."_

_ Corinth said nothing, but something in his posture revealed to Clarissa his assent._

_ With great effort, Clarissa sheathed her sword._

_ "If you try anything, I'll know. Maker forbid what I will do to you then." She spat with a venomous hate that surprised even her._

_ "Then let do the most good I can: Let me grapple with the Taint within her. These bars cannot hold it forever, but I can." He said._

_ He turned slowly towards the cage he had erected, opening his arms wide. A murmur suffused the air, an age-old enchantment known to a choice few, fewer of which were still alive._

_ "One last thing, Hawke the elder. Don't let the Wardens know of me. Let them think me dead. The less people know about the power I hold over the Darkspawn, the better."_

_ "Won't your power disappear along with you?" She asked._

_ "No. What I'm doing is subjugating myself into your sister's mind, into a forlorn, forgotten part of her consciousness where the Taint and I cannot harm her, even if we wished to. If she calls upon us, however, be it willingly or against her will, we will have no choice but heed."_

_ "You speak as if you two are one and the same." She observed coldly, expecting him to deny once more._

_ His image wavered in front of her, as if seen through water. "It is who I am. I cannot escape from that."_

_ There came a moment, where man and cage alike were wreathed in a shadow too dense for Clarissa to pierce._

_ Then they were gone._

_ "Clare?"_

"It's alright," She cooed, reluctant to let her go. She exhaled softly in relief as she felt the warmth of Bethany's skin mingle with her own, and she opened her eyes to the familiar, angelic features of her younger sister. "I'm here now."

Her skin seemed paler than before, but be it from the terrible ordeal she had gone through mere moments ago or from the Taint, now hidden within her, she could not tell.

"He's... Is he gone?" Bethany asked weakly, the softness of her voice not withholding the fear that was thinly veiled.

"Yes." Clarissa said, running a finger along her cheek.

_Better to tell her later. She's in no state to comprehend what I've done._

And yet, as Clarissa lifted her onto her feet again, letting her lean on her, the possibilities of what she had wrought upon them both by letting Cory- no, Corinth, live repeated itself to her in four heavy words.

_What have I done?_

Tousled blond hair turned round as they limped over to Isabela's prone form and the stout figure sitting beside her.

"This has all gone to thrice-blasted, Maker-damned hell." Varric said, almost nonchalantly. Clarissa did not miss the pain masked behind his usual tone.

"Is she alright?" Clarissa asked. Part of her dreaded the answer. With Bethany in her state, she couldn't possibly conjure the focus she needed to mend Isabela's wounds.

"I'm doing what I can, but she's still bleeding. We have to stop it somehow, or else..." His voice trailed off as he looked to the center of the battered arena, where scattered pieces of metal and splintered wood lay.

"I'm sorry, Varric." Clarissa intoned softly, wanting to put her hand on his shoulder but fearing his reaction.

He tried to shrug, but it came out as more of an errant twitch than anything else. "It's not your fault." He tore his eyes away.

_What have I done?_

It tore at her like a knife to her heart, opening it to the world, where all it saw was death, loss... all because of her.

_If I'd brought Anders with me... or Aveline... Ah, Maker be damned, I don't know!_

She averted her eyes, and saw yet more crimson trickling from Varric's bunched-up jacket.

A thought hit her.

_No. It's insane. _A voice in her head shouted.

_I must try._

She reached deep within herself then, searching her mind, her memories, within her very soul. Surely it had to be there. Surely it wasn't just some passing fancy, some divine _joke _the Maker decided to toy her with.

Without prompt or will, her left hand, bearing her bracer, opened of its own accord and, for a moment, she thought she felt something deep inside shatter, as the prison's pillars and walls shriveled once, in perfect timing.

Her bracer came to life as the seal on her hand flashed once, brilliantly, emitting a steady green light that seemed to run along her hand, flowing from skin, across thin air, then onto skin again as Isabela twitched in discomfort.

Clarissa didn't stop, however. She couldn't, for what she saw gave her a sense of elation and deep worry, all at once.

The tanned leather jacket fell away as Varric snatched it away to behold the sight beneath – the sight of Isabela's torn stomach, skin, sinew and crimson blood, flowed back across one another with clinical precision, but also with uncanny speed.

Rolling off to one side, Isabela groaned and muttered.

"Stop it, it tickles..." A soft giggle escaped her as her legs kicked back and forth.

Clarissa stopped, but not at Isabela's behest. The werelight surrounding her outstretched hand retreated, and the glowing sigil on her bracer faded into ordinary, mundane etched steel. She should've gasped, she should've screamed. She should've been surprised, but she wasn't.

_"It's so beautiful!" She had leapt with joy when she beheld the rose nestled in the flowerpot she kept on the table. The petals had been a flush, bright red, with a lean, slim stem reaching downwards into the small pouch of soil. Every aspect of the otherwise ordinary flower seemed perfect, as if crafted by something not of this world and, to add to its enthralling beauty, the teardrop petals seemed to glow in the dusky light._

_ Her father returned her affectionate gaze with a loving look of his own, his brown eyes sparkling with a happiness she rarely saw him exhibit._

_ "Happy birthday, Clare Bear." He murmured softly, smiling when she nuzzled against his thigh._

_ "You made it for me?" She asked. Nothing escaped her, not even the lightest touch of magic._

_ "You're seven now. It's about time someone gave you a rose of your own." He said._

_ "Can you teach me how to make one?" Clarissa asked. She never settled for less._

_ "I can tell you where I found it. Do you want to go tomorrow?"_

_ "But I want to make it glow! Make it look pretty! With magic!" She said, having eyes only for her new possession._

_ "Now, now. Didn't I already tell you not to say that word out loud? It's our little secret, Clare Bear, okay?" He said, a little sterner than she thought he would._

_ She scarcely felt him turn round as she admired the gleaming rose, but she thought she heard a long, breathy sigh and a low muttering she couldn't make sense of at the time._

_ "-would wish this magic on no one."_

Now, she did.

Clarissa was breathless. To be the conduit of magic was one thing, but to wield it was a wholly different, and endangering, prospect. Almost immediately, she felt a piercing, all-consuming fear cloud her. It was a fear that had plagued her family during every waking moment, a constant pressure at the back of their minds, and an unavoidable wedge between their relationships. Thinking herself to not be inherent of the magic that ran in her father's veins, the sensation had manifested within her to become a vigil over her younger sister, who, according to her father, would be hunted all her life.

And now she shared it with her. Now, she finally grasped the anxiety that had gripped her sister for so long.

"Clarissa? What's wrong?" Bethany asked, her still-frail senses not able to catch onto her sister's discovery.

"Nothing. I'll tell you later." Clarissa said, looking round. The stone wall that once barred their way had long since fallen.

"We have to go."

Varric nodded and shook Isabela on the shoulder lightly. "Come on, Rivaini. Beauty sleep's over." He said in his usual, gruff voice. It sounded so... _normal_, so casual, that it almost made Clarissa believe in the dwarf's chiding and the world being normal again.

Deep inside, however, she knew that it was not to be, never again. They have ridden the currents of fate itself, and now they found themselves even further upstream, in an even stranger world.

Mentally shaking herself, Clarissa adjusted Bethany's arm over her shoulders, feeling her fingers tighten on the links of her mail.

_We'll manage. Together. _Bethany's voice, strangely resolute, echoed like cool water rushing over her reeling thoughts.

_ I love you, too. _She whispered back, and felt her smile, if only faintly.

They turned around, Bethany barely able to support herself, and Clarissa's blood froze over.

Standing under the grand stone arch that led to the stone walkway, was a lone Hurlock Alpha.

Grasped in its right hand, tip pointed diagonally downwards, was a chipped, scratched broadsword easily twice its wielder's width. The faded gold of its armor, cast in dawn's light, gave the creature a faint aura of eminence that didn't quite fit with its features. Wide, bloodshot eyes stared at them through slits in the Alpha's horned helmet, enhancing an emotion conveyed through eye contact that Clarissa could not quite place.

Neither side moved. Clarissa didn't dare engage the creature barring their way, as her companions were in no shape to fight. Had she approached, they would be defenseless against any other of the Alpha's kin, should they be lurking in the shadows still. A tense silence, broken only by the Alpha's laboured, animalistic panting.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Alpha moved.

By tearing off its helmet.

Clarissa furrowed her brow in confusion.

The sword went next, dropping to the ground with a loud, resounding _clang_. Did it mean to fight her with its bare hands? Out of bloodlust? For revenge?

Then Clarissa saw something else. Something in the Alpha's eyes. Something that caught the rising sun's rays, cradling it within a liquid grasp and played at Clarissa's eyes.

Tears.

The Alpha took a step forward. Then another. Clarissa made no move to stop it, now that she saw the difference in the Hurlock's eyes. There was no rage, no madness, nothing that embodied the savage nature of the Taint-twisted beast approaching her. It made it seem almost... _human_.

"What do you want?" Clarissa asked tentatively, not sure in what she should expect from the Alpha.

The Alpha slowed its shambling steps, and glistening, brilliant rivulets of moisture made their way down its darkened, deformed flesh.

Clarissa's hand left her sword.

The Alpha started again, closing the distance until they were barely a feet apart. From their proximity, Clarissa recognized this particular Hurlock, even if they all looked the same and felt the same when she drove her sword through them.

This was the Hurlock that had dueled her, and the one that had led her into the bowels of the prison. Only, it was different now. _He _was different now.

He opened his mouth, revealing jagged fangs that made Clarissa's gut wrench. It opened and closed tentatively, haltingly, as if its owner had long since forgotten how to speak.

A whistle of air sounded from far away, followed by the sound of one, two, then three arrows puncturing armor and diving into flesh.

The Alpha's eyes went wide, his bulky, muscular frame jolting three times, left, center, then to the right. For a split second, Clarissa thought of Varric, and wanted to look backwards at him. But then she remembered the dismemberment of his weapon, and the doubt in her mind increased tenfold.

_Who...?_

The Alpha looked at her with eyes filled with regret, as what he had wanted to say, tried to say, was robbed from him.

His drained body twisted round and fell, revealing three black-fletched arrows aligned in a perfectly horizontal line across his back. Whoever had loosed them, Clarissa thought, was an excellent marksman.

And then, she saw them.

Three grey-clad figures – two female, one male – sliding nimbly down a slope that flanked the lonely path back through the mountains. One of them, a dark-complexioned woman, held a strung bow in her hands, bearing a quiver of black-fletched arrows poking overhead. The other bore on her back a twisted, yet elegantly crafted stretch of dark wood with flowing lines that seemed to disappear into one another, as if by magic. A belt, laden with pouches unlike the ones Bethany had, jiggled as she approached Clarissa with her companions, revealing bright blue liquid trapped within glass flasks. She didn't take her staff into her hands, but Clarissa not only saw, but also _felt_ the magic she kept ready, even from such a distance away.

The man was who intrigued her the most.

He was lean and hardly tall, as the dark woman stood a head higher than him as they strode towards Clarissa. She saw his dark grey eyes, and decided immediately that he was hiding something from her. It was too guarded, too wary for a group of well-adjusted, well-rounded warriors who had apparently just saved another group from the clutches of the Darkspawn. The gleaming breastplate that he wore across his chest was of little comfort to her as well, as she saw, instantly and with sudden fear, the symbol etched on the grey steel.

Twin griffons.

Grey Wardens.

Clarissa's heart skipped a beat. Long have she heard tales about the legendary Grey Wardens: Keepers of the farthest gates, avowed guardians of Thedas against the Darkspawn, seasoned, hardy and nigh on inhuman warriors, peerless marksmen, and battlemages of the highest order. Theirs was an order wreathed in an impenetrable aura of heroism and valor, revered by many and feared by countless more for both the martial prowess and the Taint they carry within their bodies.

The Taint that her sister also shared.

She has also heard of the Right of Conscription, the invocation the Wardens use on rare accounts to procure recruits, and the invocation that, if refused, warranted the use of lethal force to ensure compliance. On normal occasions, it would have mattered little to her, as she had other military organisations to worry about.

But now, it was different. The Taint was present in Bethany and, worst of all, she was unnaturally stable. She would make the perfect candidate for recruitment and, coupled with the hidden power to exert control over the minds of the Darkspawn, she was utterly invaluable. What's more, should the Wardens reject her as a recruit, the Taint within her would certainly not permit them to leave her alive and unchecked, and Clarissa, in her state and concerning the states of her companions, was not confident in taking on three well-rested Grey Wardens all alone.

A chill ran through her when she came to grips with the situation.

She, and Bethany, were at their whim.

"You there! Friend!" The lead male Warden, apparently the one in charge, called out when they crossed the threshold and entered the arena. "You wouldn't happen to be Messere Hawke, would you?"

Clarissa's eyes widened at his mentioning of her name. _How did he know?_

Things were going downhill. And quickly, too.

"I am Clarissa Hawke, yes." Clarissa answered haltingly, still running her options through her mind.

"Next time, don't let the buggers get too close, eh?" The Warden stopped at conversational distance, smiled, and the women at his back visibly relaxed, magic dissipating from the mage's fingertips, who had a cheek's length of flame-red hair, much like Clarissa. The dark-complexioned woman unstrung her bow and returned it to its position at her back and, briefly, Clarissa wondered at her features.

Instead of the decidedly dark-brown skin colour usually associated with men and women from the southern reaches of the Anderfels, which had been Clarissa's assumption, the archer Warden's skin was almost pitch black, tinged by a touch of violet. And what had appeared to Clarissa to be her eyes playing tricks on her only moments before came to resemble dark-red eyes, with long, curving eyelashes that flickered in place as the exotic woman studied Clarissa in return. Her cheekbones were slanted, pointing to a sharp chin that did little to belie her elven origin, which made her height an even more puzzling mystery. On all accounts, though, the woman was striking and, to a warrior's eye, the embodiment of an exotic beauty that would escape many an average peasant's scrutiny.

"I see that you have suffered some from those nasty 'locks. That wound," the Warden pointed at the swollen patch of skin on Isabela's lower stomach, "looks fit to burst!"

"We did what we could." Clarissa answered simply.

"It's just as well. Katja, see to the poor woman's wounds, then keep watch on the perimeter. We won't be long."

At his orders, the dark-skinned woman detached from the triangular formation they formed and approached Varric, who warily let her come close. As she searched for the proper bandages in a ranger's pouch on her waist, her blood-red eyes met Clarissa's, and Clarissa thought she saw her flash her a look of... _caution?_ _Concern?_

It did little to allay the frantic beating of her heart.

"I'm Delvin, by the way. Delvin Aristold of Falconsreach Hold, in the Free Marches. This fine woman behind me is Ishay, Ishay from the Tower in Kirkwall, no less! Dreadful place. Never want to go back there again." He extended his armored hand, and Clarissa shook with him and smiled uneasily, trying to be as casual as possible but keeping with every move he made. His gaze turned sideways and downwards as Varric, replaced at Isabela's side by the Warden known as Katja, came forward.

"The name's Varric. Noble house Tethras, hailing from Orzammar. Born in Kirkwall, though. Well met, Delvin." The handshake was diagonal.

"Long have I not heard of the name Tethras, my good sir. I once heard of it during one of my many trips to the Dwarven capital. Well met, indeed." Though Delvin himself may not have noticed it, but the mention of Varric's family name still being uttered in Orzammar, be it for good or ill, heartened the dwarf.

Turning his attention back towards Clarissa, Delvin cocked his head in question at Bethany. "And this would be...?"

"Bethany Hawke. My sister." Clarissa answered curtly, already thinking of ways to turn the conversation onto other topics.

"Well met... Warden." Bethany said, the fatigue in her voice evident. She raised a hand and, instead of taking it with his own, Delvin lifted it lightly upon his mailed fingers and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

"Well met indeed, Beth-" He blanched, suddenly recoiling as if stung by a wasp.

Clarissa froze.

_No._

His jovial expression, predominant only moments ago, was replaced with a hardness and bluntness Clarissa did not know how to counter. "Your sister has been infected with the Taint, Messere Hawke." He said icily.

Clarissa feigned surprise. "Surely there must be some mistake."

"There is no mistake. We Wardens are inseparable with the Taint, and I can tell you right now that it resides within Bethany."

"Ishay. Examine her. A person surviving the Taint is one we will take in as a fellow Warden. If not," He turned back towards Clarissa, with a hint of apology in his eyes, "we will be forced to kill her."

Clarissa turned defensive, every fiber of her being rising to shield her sister from the Wardens, who were quickly becoming hostile in her eyes.

"You wouldn't dare." She hissed.

"You wouldn't be able to stop us."

"Try me." Her right hand found her the hilt sword, and her left glowed with fiery intensity.

The mage, Ishay, stepped forward and closed her eyes. Bethany winced. After a moment, she opened her eyes again.

"Delvin." She spoke softly, retreating slightly behind him and whispering into his ear. Delvin listened for a moment, then nodded.

"Since there is cause for us to believe that the Taint has altered its influence on your sister, we believe as well that she must be brought to Falconsreach Hold for further examination as well as assessment for becoming a Grey Warden."

He looked into his eyes, a flicker of regret but a sliver of something else flashing by so quickly that Clarissa missed it, and uttered the words she dreaded the most.

"By the power granted to me by the ancient contracts, I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."

"No! You can't have her!" Clarissa shouted in denial, drawing her sword with a angry flourish. Delvin backed away, mirroring her actions. Ishay gathered magical fire at her open hands, and the Warden behind Clarissa, Katja, retreated from Isabela and formed a triangular formation with her fellow Wardens again, drawing her bow and fitting black-fletched arrows to string. Clarissa thought she saw regret surface within the dark elf's eyes, but she paid it no heed.

"You would resist the Right of Conscription?" Delvin asked, more out of formality than anything. He knew full well what Clarissa meant by drawing her blade.

"You may take me. You may take my _life_. But you will _never_, in this lifetime or the next, lay a hand on my sister." She hammered each word into the air, punctuating her every syllable with flaring blue flame from her outstretched left hand, encasing the whole of her lower arm and the entirety of her steel bracer.

Behind her, she heard Isabela's weak, but all the more fierce voice add her protest into the mix. "You'll have to go through every one of us, worm." The silvery _slink _of daggers leaving their sheaths accentuated the final word.

What came next shocked them all.

"Don't... Let them take me."

_"WHAT?" _Clarissa almost screamed. "Bethany, what are you saying?"

"Surely it's only a mistake. You said it yourself, my love. The Taint within me is gone. _You _defeated him. You saved me already." She turned towards the Wardens, who were practically quizzical in the turn of events. "Take me to this... whatever Reach Hold you have in the Marches. There, even your Warden Commander shall find no Taint within me, and we can be rid of this violent bickering."

With her mind, she said to Clarissa, _It should take me a few days. A week, at the most. It will be like a free ride back to the Free Marches! We'll be together again soon, my love. Don't worry. It's not like they're going to make a Grey Warden out of a girl like me, not when my heart already belongs to you._

Clarissa tried hard not to scream out the truth, not to exclaim to everyone within earshot her experience inside Bethany's mind and the pact she had forged with Corinth without Bethany's consent. But to reveal to the Grey Wardens knowledge that her sister, her _love_, had control over the minds of the Darkspawn would only worsen the problem.

She remained silent.

_What have I done?_

Delvin exhaled, breaking the silence. "Well, I'm glad _she_ sees sense." He said, sheathing his sword. "Since Bethany will now come willingly, I trust you will not deny her her free will, and endanger her in the process?"

"N...No." Clarissa forced out, defeated.

_We'll have this to remain in touch, my love. This, and the realm of dreams. All will be well. _Bethany said affectionately as she started forward, Katja immediately coming forth to support her.

Clarissa bit down hard on her tongue, silencing herself. She felt betrayal, from herself and directed at herself, rage within her. Bethany trusted her. Trusted her so much that she felt no danger at all to go with a group of strangers. A group of Grey Wardens, no less. But it was too late. She could only hope Corinth would be able to mask the Taint convincingly enough to fool the Warden Commander at the Hold, whoever he may be.

_I love you. _She called out with her mind, as the trio of Grey Wardens departed slowly, with her sister, her love, in their midst, walking into a den of what may become her captors.

She saw her look back and, for a moment, those honey-brown eyes seemed to be a slight darker.

_And I you. You know that._

Clarissa stood there, petrified until the Wardens disappeared behind the mountains. Behind her, Varric coughed low in his throat. "Now, will you tell me just what went wrong back there?" He asked.

Clarissa, for her part, turned round and looked at him. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she said softly to him four words, to herself, with utter exasperation and complete despair.

_"What have I done?"_

__/It's been far too long. I know. Don't judge. Please.

So here's a longer, more convoluted, utterly not-makin'-sense chapter to compensate for the wait! I hope you liked it!

Brainzz: Sorry. Have to wait some more. More losses? *cheers*

Artman: Shadows keep you, friend. You should have somewhat of a gander who "Katja" really is... :D Welcome to the party!

Spike: YEP.

Koona: Nope. Can't do it. I'm now addicted to long chapters and even longer breaks. I'll mail you medication to cope for the anxiety and panic attacks.

And for all those out there, let me share with you a poem I discovered from a book I read, a poem which served to be my inspiration for this chapter:

_In El-Harím, there lived a man, a man with yellow eyes._  
_To me, he said, "Beware the whispers, for they whisper lies._  
_Do not wrestle with the demons of the dark,_  
_Or else upon your mind they'll place a mark;_  
_Do not listen to the shadows of the deep,_  
_Else they'll haunt you even when you sleep._

__For a world where enduring lies are not whispered, but spoken aloud./


	19. Yield

Little was spoken of during the trek home.

They had followed the footsteps of the Grey Wardens, as there was but one path out of the Vimmarks. For countless times, Clarissa wanted to speed ahead, to catch up to the group of grey-clad warriors that had her sister. She was close at first. With the bond between them she had felt, with absolute clarity, Bethany's presence. She was ahead of her, but only barely. At times, it would seem to her that she was only around the bend, and that she could rush forward, Grey Wardens be damned, and take her back once more. Each time, her certainty drove her to believe; Each time, the lonely, winding footpath proved her wrong and, each time, her heart sank lower than where it had been before.

After a day or so, the road forked.

North and south. Two opposite directions. To the north lie the green-and-yellow pastures of Wildervale, where the Grey Wardens' embassy in the Free Marches, Falconsreach Hold, overlooks Wildervale Lake. To the south was Kirkwall, home to Clarissa and her soon-to-be-heartbroken mother, Leandra Hawke.

She had already lost her son to the Blight, and now the very guardians against the Blight have taken her daughter as well.

And it was her fault.

_Again._

The dam broke that day, when they had set camp a league or so down the southern road. Clarissa had been hard at work, attempting to start a fire with magic. For some reason, the power had refused to answer her call, eluding her every grasp and retreating deep within the confines of her mind. As she tried to reestablish control over the evasive power, a unbidden thought struck her.

_I wish Bethany was here._

She had tried to ignore it, to bury her thoughts, her worries and her guilt under mundane tasks such as hunting and gathering firewood. Yet, the more she resisted, the more potent the feelings became, until her gut wrenched every time her delicate, angelic face swam to the forefront of her mind, and her heart threatened to make her plunge her sword through it in her every waking moment.

She knelt before the unlit campfire, eyes rimmed with tears. An involuntary sob escaped her and soon, she gave up on trying to stop herself. Her entire body heaved as she bid her sorrow, her sadness and her broken heart release. She sobbed, freely and clearly, letting her wordless plight ring out into the clearing.

_What have I done?_

She had failed. Again.

And this time, there was no one to comfort her. No lucid, soft brown eyes to lock with hers; No long, lean arms with silken skin to wrap around her trembling frame; No whispering, cooing lips to soothe her pain.

She was alone.

"Hey, hey, come here..." A soft, hushed voice, in sharp contrast to its usual bluntness and flirtatiousness, beckoned to her, turning her round and wrapping muscular, toned arms around her.

"I miss her." She half-admitted, half-called between sobs, the still-frail body of Isabela, the Pirate Queen, holding her close, offering and cradling her in a warmth she did not want, but desperately needed.

"You'll see her again, eventually." Isabela said, pressing a kiss to her heartbroken friend's forehead. Deep down, she doubted what she had said. Could she really? Becoming a Grey Warden was in effect a death sentence – one does not take their oath and spurn them after. There was still a chance that her travels would bring them together again, but it was a slim one at best. She just hoped Clarissa would cling onto it. Isabela knew full well that Clarissa was prepared to die that moment when she drew her sword on the Wardens, because for her, a life without Bethany was a life not worth living.

Focusing on Clarissa once more, she noticed the shades of black under and around her eyes. Her cheeks, originally in a permanent shade of slight pink, were now nigh on sickly white.

_Is that what love does to you? _Isabela asked herself silently. A part of her was glad she never partook in such extreme forms of devotion, saying to herself that she was getting off lucky. But another part of her yearned with unbridled envy when she had watched the two lovebirds, hawk and eagle, entwine their bodies, their hearts, perhaps even their very souls. It was something she herself wanted as well, and at that moment, she doubted whether she would ever get to possess such a thing, whether she would ever feel _love_, in its absolute entirety.

"Here, let me handle that. You just get a good lie-down." Isabela shushed Clarissa's weak complaints and laid her onto her own bedroll with one arm, while she fumbled around in her pack and retrieved two flintstones. "It'll be better in the morning."

Somehow, she doubted those words.

_Clarissa opened her eyes with a start._

_ A cool wind caressed her face, carrying with it the soft rustling of grass and the crisp smell of a fresh, healthy clearing one can scarce find in the untamed wilderness of the Free Marches. Looking ahead, a lone tree filled her vision, its leaves swaying hypnotically in the steady wind._

"No one will disturb you here, Clarissa. I've set apart this realm of the Fade to you. Let it be a refuge, for mind and soul, for you and Bethany." _A soft male voice, still in its youth, whispered to her._

_ She mouthed her thanks, feeling the grass crunch beneath her boots as she started to walk. Not wanting to leave a mark on the otherwise pristine clearing created for her and her sister, she knelt and untied her steel plate boots and greaves, leaving them lying sideways in the grass._

_ She stood, feeling the soft blades of grass beneath her bare feet. Her armour weighed on her, making her feel strangely out of balance. Reaching behind her, she tried to find, amidst the sea of buckles and straps, the two leather harnesses that kept her armour locked around her chest._

_ She froze when she felt fingers, soft and cool, gently tug her groping hands away._

_ "So clumsy..." A voice cooed from behind her. Clarissa didn't dare to turn round. She didn't dare to turn round only to find someone... someone else. She was confused, afraid, and her hidden guilt weighed her down more than her armour ever could._

_ She felt the tension around her chest release as the leather buckles came free. She remained stone still as the hands that undone her steel corset snaked forward, reaching between her limp arms and around her waist, easing the worn steel slowly from her body. She exhaled, feeling as if a part of her escaped from her taut throat and into the wind. She never realised her armour was wound so tight she could barely breathe around it._

_ Or was it _her_?_

_ Could it really be her?_

_ Slowly, Clarissa turned around, meeting watery brown eyes that locked with her own in a long-awaited heartbeat._

_ That was all it took to make her lose control._

_ She closed the distance between them with a single, short stride, needing to feel her lips on hers once more, to feel her body meld into her curves and most of all, to share herself with her, wholly and and without reserve._

_ She felt her arms around her, brushing up to her cheeks as they separated reluctantly, unwilling to relinquish the intimacy between them in that fleeting moment. Smiling contently, she felt her fingers cradle her face as they gazed at each other, conveying their affection with the unspoken language only they knew._

I've missed you. _Clarissa said._

_ Bethany took her by the hand, leading her from the wide, open space of the clearing to a particular spot where swaying shadows embraced them, and the soft, pleasant sound of rustling leaves filled their ears as they sat, their backs feeling the rough, coarse texture of the bark._

_ "Are you all right? Did they do anything to you?" Clarissa asked, her hands half-heartedly working at the laces securing her steel-plated leggings to her legs while her eyes remained fixated on Bethany._

_ "I'm fine, my love. They were surprisingly respectful, and most of them kept their distance. After a while, though, it must've appeared to them that it was not healthy, for them and for me, to leave me alone with my thoughts. One of the Wardens, the dark-skinned one called Katja, began to talk with me. She's quite nice."_

_ Bethany snuggled her head between Clarissa's cheek and her torso, sighing softly. "But she's not you." She said simply._

_ Clarissa felt her heart blossom into a dizzying set of colours as she wrapped her arm around Bethany, the wind tangling their hair. She wanted to stay here forever, and she could tell Bethany wanted the same thing._

_ "Where are you now?" Clarissa asked, curious about their progress. She did not expect Bethany's withdrawal after her words tumbled out of her mouth, and she looked at her with concern as Bethany put her chin on her thighs, visibly retreating within herself._

_ "I was told that the Hold is only a day away." She murmured. Without provocation, she shifted in her place, sidling even closer to Clarissa. Her frame took on a taut, worried composure, and Clarissa felt a twinge of fear lance through her._

_ "What's wrong?" She asked._

_ Bethany turned to look her directly, eye-to-eye. Clarissa froze when she saw how perilously close Bethany was to tears._

_ "I feel something, Clarissa. Something inside me that lingers still, and I fear that the Wardens will eventually find it. Then, they won't let me go. But that is not what I fear most."_

_ The wavering reflections of the moonlight spilled onto Bethany's cheeks as the tears overwhelmed her. "What I fear most," she sobbed, lightly but visibly, "is losing you."_

_ Clarissa leaned forward and took Bethany into her arms, hugging her tightly as she tried to restrain her own tears. This was all her fault. She had to tell her._

_ "Listen to me. Whe-" She was cut off when she felt Bethany shake her head, still buried in the nook between her shoulder and her face._

_ "I don't want to listen. I don't want to talk." She said, her voice cracking as she did._

_ Clarissa released her and put her hands on Bethany's shoulders, looking into her eyes intently. "Anything for you. You know that."_

_ She felt cool fingers on her chest, caressing her, exploring her skin through the rough fabric of her tunic. She felt it move downwards, towards her waist, when it slipped underneath the garment and she felt Bethany's hand on her bare skin, snaking around her waist and drawing her slowly, imperceptibly forwards._

_ What she wanted was unmistakable._

_ The distance closed between them. Bethany opened her mouth slightly, as if in askance._

_ A spark of electricity ran through their bodies as their lips met. Clarissa closed her eyes, pressing herself slowly, but surely, into Bethany. Her tongue snaked into Bethany's mouth, meeting a similar counterpart as they began their dance. She suckled on her lower lip, pulling her forwards while her hands cradled her face. She tasted so sweet, so pure. She pulled back, leaving Bethany momentarily confused._

_ She heard her gasp as her lips, moist and warm, closed on her neck. She felt her snuggle into her kisses as she sampled her velvet, silken skin, drawing tantalizing circles on her flesh. To Clarissa, she tasted of mellow honey, felt like soft, wavy silk, and smelled like fresh flowers that bloomed in the summer. A pang of agony reverberated through her as she realized that this might be the last time she could feel her like she did now, kiss her with all her passion, and love her with all her soul._

_ She lamented, but she did not disclose her sorrow. She resolved to enjoy this night, even when she knew that it may very well be the last._

_ She heard her murmuring, urging her to continue as she traveled lower, hands reaching for the knots that kept Bethany's outfit in place. She felt her inhale, as if anxious for what she was about to do, as she tugged gently. A gentle tug was all it took._

_ She parted the garment slowly, reverently as she looked up, into honey-brown eyes that shone with sadness but flickered with desire. She wanted this. They both did. Soundlessly, she felt her whisper._

"Please."

_She was not one to refuse._

_ She followed the line she had drawn on her flesh, trailed downwards onto the untouched, alabaster skin of Bethany's bosom. She kissed, again and again, layering kiss upon kiss as Bethany's breathing hitched, as she approached the rise of her chest to the places where no one has touched before, place that she reserved, from birth to this moment, for her._

_ She felt her buckle and strain against the tree behind her as her lips sealed over flushed flesh, taking the highest point of her into the warm confines of her mouth, where her tongue rubbed against it, up and down, up and down. She heard her gasp, saw her writhe, and felt her body tense as she sucked, creating a delicious, hot tension nothing could replicate. She felt her hands grope helplessly, seeking purchase among fragile grass, ripping them free as the heat mounted within her, spearing her to new heights in her pleasure and making her surrender to her deepest, darkest desires. Clarissa moaned, the slight vibration sending Bethany's eyes rolling into the back of her head once again. She felt her own thighs clench, the carnal thoughts that accompanied her actions forming a knot in her stomach and a slight wetness between her legs that she tried hard to ignore. She had to finish what she started. What she wanted mattered little._

_ Her right hand snaked behind Bethany's waist, pushing outwards, making her slide from the rough bark. She cradled her, as a mother would a child, as she moved downwards once more, savoring the taste and feel of her, reveling in Bethany's soft moans as she beckoned to her with her body, arching forwards, craving more and more. Her mouth found her navel, caressed the skin around it with soft, lilting kisses, then passing her tongue in a flitting, upward stroke that had Bethany sighing in contentment, the raw, lustful arousal melting back into all-encompassing, blissful pleasure. She allowed her the reprieve, using her left hand to coax Bethany into supporting herself with her own arms while her right arm slid around her waist, finding the final article of clothing that kept her from coming fully, gloriously undone._

_ She slid her fingers around the fringe slowly, invitingly, her eyes locking with Bethany's once more. She saw her nod, without hesitation but with an urgent, desperate need. She was ready. She wanted this. She wanted her, _needed _her to take her, to make her hers, as she should have done long ago._

_ "I love you." Clarissa mouthed. Three little words. As pretext. As proclamation. As a final, concrete affirmation that pushed aside all fear, shunned all worry and obliterated all lingering doubts._

_ Bethany bit her lower lip in anticipation, with nervousness. The sight of her, naked, vulnerable and utterly perfect, made Clarissa's heart stop right then and there._

_ Still, it did little to deter her ordering her hands to hook around the fabric tied around Bethany, and start pulling._

_ They slid, without hitch or snag, down Bethany's long, lean thighs. They rounded the bend of her knees, lightly grazing Bethany's skin as she lifted her feet. Then, they were gone, discarded and forgotten as Clarissa, after all this time, saw it._

_ The very core of her, open and thoroughly hypnotic, beckoning to her as Bethany's breathing made it part, ever so slightly._

_ The most sacred part of her, flushed and heated, making Clarissa's mouth water and her own juncture tighten exquisitely._

_ The essence of her being, offered without regret or compunction, bestowing upon her an honour she hardly deserved._

_ Time came to a halt as she lowered herself, hands spreading Bethany's thighs open, mouth coming perilously close to contact. She could feel the heat radiating from her, the moist, slick wetness permeating the small patch of empty space._

I don't deserve this.

_As much as she wanted to deny it, it refused to let her go. She hesitated, at the verge of claiming the life of not just a person, but the love of her life. She froze, heart and mind in conflict once again, a binding battle that kept her from both advance and retreat._

_ One word broke her spell._

_ "Please." Her sister begged, shifting and bucking at her proximity alone. Who was she to refuse? Who was she to deny?_

_ Who was she, that she could refuse the ultimate gift one could bestow upon another and refuse to acknowledge her guilt?_

_ Who was she, that she could deny another the joyous, revenant feeling of release and deny her faults?_

Let this be my penance. _She thought. She looked up, edging slowly forward. Honey-brown eyes told her, with unspoken consent, everything she needed to know._

"I forgive you."

_Her lips came into contact, sending a veritable shock down her entire body as Bethany cried out, exclaiming her release. Her lips moved in tandem as Bethany convulsed, pure, white-hot pleasure making the world go white, her eyes go blank and her mind to explode with otherworldly absolution. But Bethany would not relent. She refused to give in, to let it end so soon._

_ Her tongue parted her, cradling her in warmth as she licked from base to tip, making her moan low in her throat. It probed into her, her walls contracting as the pleasure mounted, trapping the malleable flesh between them as she bucked and writhed. Her mouth opened, gasping and groaning as Clarissa moved inside her, pressing even further into her depths, drawn in by her scent, her beauty and her overpowering desire._

_ She suddenly detached, leaving her bewildered and flushed. She let her hands leave her thighs, relinquishing the hold she had over her wild movements as the fingers took hold of either side, and stretched her open, wider than she ever thought Bethany could be. She saw pink, laced with crimson, pulsing with need as the frantic breathing of her lover brought the muscles to life. She saw the center, the core within her core, coming into bloom. It bested every flower in beauty, outmatched every fragrance in potency, and drew Clarissa in once more._

_ She bit down on her hand as Clarissa's tongue flicked against the tip, a guttural growl escaping her gag as breathing became laboured, thought became painstaking, and words died in her mouth. But still, she refused to relent. She wanted something, _any_thing, anything to satisfy this unsated lust that raged within her, desperate for even more._

_ She felt something else this time, not as hot and throbbing as her tongue, not as wide and soft as her lips. It was something else, something pointed and cool, moving up and down her slit. She craned her head as the sharp appendage receded from her swollen lips, only to find Clarissa, wet, glistening lips wrapped around the index finger of her right hand, violet-black eyes gazing into her with wanton lust. She watched as she suckled on the digit, hearing a moan escape her as she tasted her with the dark, wet confines of her mouth._

_ She saw her saunter forwards, straddling her right thigh between her own thighs as she came up to her, claiming her in a long, drawn-out kiss. Unlike the last time their lips touched, Clarissa tasted bitter and sweet at the same time. A perverse sense of carnal ecstasy filled her as she realized the origin of such a unique tang._

_ She felt her hand snake down her body, skirting her mounds, tickling her navel, reaching between her legs where she had ravaged her without pause and mercy._

_ She moaned into her mouth, bucking against the single digit that separated from Clarissa's hand, poised at the heat that threatened to consume her._

_ She kept her mouth sealed over hers as she slid the finger inside her, feeling her slick warmth with something else entirely. She pushed to the edge, feeling Bethany arch against her body, buck against her finger and resist the ecstasy she bestowed upon her with adamant futility. She was so slick, so soft, so warm. She felt her walls clamp around her digit as she attempted to retract, the muscles straining to keep her inside her, to fill her entirely. Little did it know of the renewed pleasure, magnified tenfold, as she thrust inwards once more._

_ She felt her go slack, all her strength expended just to keep her from losing control. She heard her mewl inside their entwined mouths, writhing helplessly as she pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled, every motion bring her closer and closer to the precipice, to the brink that was her final barrier._

_ She felt her arms, slick with sweat, wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close. She felt her waist move in tandem with her finger, relentless in its conquest. She split another finger, her middle finger, from the fist she held at Bethany's entrance, slipping it inside. She felt her mouth close on her own, desperately, soundless screams echoing in their throats._

_ And still, she fought. Still, she refused to relent._

_ She let their mouths separate, her buried fingers coming to a halt as they panted for breath. The miniscule convulsions that signalled Bethany's impending release were enough to make her go wild, and she moaned into the night._

_ "Yes..." She moaned. Her voice was hoarse from her exertions, but to Clarissa, it was the clarion call of an angel._

_ Her angel._

_ It was then that a thought hit her: She wanted this as well. She wanted it more than anything else. As much as they enjoyed these moments, giving themselves into their combined affection, she knew that it was not meant to last._

_ She looked into her eyes, seeing her violet-blue reflected within her dilated dark-brown orbs._

I can't let her go.

Not like this.

_She was loath to relinquish her, to relinquish this._

_ She felt tears, unbidden and unwelcome, well in her eyes. "I love you." She said, unafraid of what the world might say. Bethany was hers, and hers alone._

_ "I love you, too." She whispered, the conviction of her words breaking through the haze of her mind, coming to the forefront of her mind as clear as diamond._

_ Her fingers, still buried inside her, curled upwards, grazing the apex of her core._

_ She made to scream, but her breath died in her throat. She made to gasp, but no sound would come. She wanted to close her eyes, but the light was too bright. She wanted to pull away, but her body was no longer her own. She could only look into her eyes as she came, one little, insignificant movement taking her over the edge and sweeping her under tides of ecstasy. Heat rushed through her veins, making her burn as hot and bright as the sun itself. A numbness came over her senses, the world fading away as pleasure washed over sight, smell and touch. She held her tight as she convulsed, her body racking against her frame as her screams came in strangled gasps, cutting short as her throat refused to draw breath. All the while, twin orbs of violet-blue held their gaze, anchoring her, keeping her from going mad with with the pure, unbridled ecstasy tearing through her. It seemed like it would never end. She did not want it to end._

She sprang to life, completely alert. Her bedroll tore in several places as the sudden strain broke the worm seams. Her breathing returned to her, and she gasped.

She surveyed her surroundings.

Clarissa was gone.

Gone was the big, familiar tree that shadowed them, keeping them in its protective embrace; Gone were the sights and smells of clear, crisp pastures that dotted the outskirts of her home; Gone were the violet-blue eyes that looked so intently into her, that made her whole and kept her sane.

"It's okay," A voice said. She spun around to find a dark-skinned woman, putting a comforting arm around her, "it's just a dream."

She shoved her away, and let the tears fall.

Clarissa woke with a start. The night was at its darkest, and the embers of the dying campfire the only source of illumination in the clearing.

She was gone.

But not for long.

Isabela stirred and sat upright when she saw Clarissa hefting her pack on her back, buckling her blade to her side. She roused Varric when she saw her start off on the beaten dirt path, facing the direction from which they have come.

"Where do you think you're going?" She asked. She already knew the answer.

Clarissa stopped. Where was she going? What was she doing? Was there ever any doubt that this moment would come?

"To bring her back."

They briskly packed and followed, towards the north.

/She couldn't do it. She couldn't let go. She told me. Or is it the voices in my head?

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to writing this chapter. Such scenes are most adept at describing emotion, and I wouldn't be writing this if it wasn't absolutely necessary. I wanted to craft a scene that was not pure humpty-dumpty, or in another sense the word, _smut_. These scenes, as I've read them interpreted and given life by an array of talented writers on this site, can be so much more than meaningless, mindless rutting. I apologize if anyone was offended or otherwise disturbed by the contents of this chapter.

Spike: Not for long.

Night: Does this qualify as happy, fluffy times?

Artman: Things just got heavy.

Ninja: Then did this go beyond your day?

And for all of you out there, come by and sit awhile. Read, enjoy and remember to tell me what you think!/


	20. Cloak and Dagger

The night wrapped itself like a blanket over Clarissa, obscuring her entirely.

It had taken her two days to trek back across the Vimmark Mountains and into the borders of Wildervale. Fatigue weighed on her, slowing her breathing, sapping her strength. She had gone two days without sleep or pause.

And now, both a chill of fear and a shiver of excitement raced through her as she beheld the distant lights of a tall, wide structure, towering over the lake she was skirting along.

_Falconsreach Hold._

From what she had gathered from the villagers living in the vicinity, the Grey Wardens' headquarters in the Free Marches was less than welcoming. The paths leading to the Hold were regularly patrolled by Wardens, and the more curious villagers were politely but sternly denied passage. From all accounts, the Hold was nigh on a complete mystery, and from that mystery spouted tales so varied and imaginative that Clarissa had the hardest time separating fact from fiction. But on many accounts, an unsettling phenomena keep surfacing, time and time again. She still remembered an instance of it vividly, told by a nervous, twitchy youth.

_"My older cousin sneaked past the patrols last summer, saying he wanted to get a closer look at the Hold. He never came back."_

And on the nights when the budding youth of Wildervale vanished near the fort, one thing was unanimous.

On those nights, the air seemed to thrum with debaucherous laughter.

But Clarissa wasn't about to let tall tales and myths stop her. She was in there. She could feel it. The connection between them was too powerful, wrought too deeply for her to ignore. She was there, within her reach.

Clarissa breathed in deeply and kept up her pace, the moonlight her only guide as she jogged along the lakeside path. She could not, and would not, stop. She had only to sneak in under the cover of darkness, and sneak back out with Bethany. The Wardens wouldn't even need to be alarmed if Clarissa could help it. The night air was crisp, the cloudless sky was showered with stars, and

"Halt!" A feminine voice, soft but daunting, declared. Clarissa whirled around, attempting to scan the ridge to her left

_Damn it._

She drew her blade with a flourish, casting her eyes into the surrounding darkness. Stealth was no longer an option. She let magic flow into her sword, causing the edges of flared gold to gleam with pristine brilliance, a magical werelight that gave the encroaching darkness somewhat of a pause.

Faintly, she heard the tightening of a bowstring, high and to her left. She whirled round, sword up, ready to block the first of many arrows she had been sure was coming.

The moonlight hit her face just as she set eyes upon her assailant.

A tall figure, long and lean, wreathed in pale moonlight. Tapered fingers wrapped securely around a recurved bow of exotic make, drawing it taut with a languid grace that spoke of impeccable accuracy. Razor-sharp eyes running Clarissa through with sheer intensity alone, gleaming with a feral cunning that, in spite of Clarissa's indomitable determination, gave her pause.

And in that pause, Clarissa saw two things that made her falter even more.

As she assessed her opponent, who had the advantage of height and the element of surprise, she noticed the ink-black cloak wrapped around her, held in place with a knot around her neck. A similarly coloured hood obscured the area above her temples, leaving only her eyes, staring directly into the spot between Clarissa's eyes. Though she did not doubt the drive the archer possessed, there was something else in her eyes.

Then she saw it.

_Blood-red eyes._

_ A Grey Warden with red eyes._

She saw similar revelations imposed upon the archer's frowning face.

"Hawke." The archer said simply, her tug on the bowstring as taut as ever. She didn't seem surprised that she was here.

"Katja?" Clarissa answered, not letting her guard down. Patrols were run in pairs, sometimes even groups. Wherever the hooded assassin had come from, there was bound to be at least one other Grey Warden.

Katja, for her part, merely eyed her down the length of the nocked arrow. "I was wondering when you'd arrive." She said. There was no contempt in her voice, not even a bit of anger. Clarissa found that puzzling.

"Then you know what I am here for."

"Yes," Katja's gaze wavered somewhat, flashing back towards the Hold in the distance. "your sister."

"Let me pass, then. I have no quarrel with the Grey Wardens. Let me take my sister back peacefully, and we can be spared bloodshed." Clarissa said.

"The Wardens will not take kindly to that, Hawke. You know that. The Joining is not a cure, but a commitment. Or so they say." Katja spoke softly, a tinge of pity colouring her words. Again, Clarissa was perplexed as to the compassion thinly veiled within her soft-spoken voice. If it was a ploy to get her to lower her guard, then it had worked.

"They do not need to know of what I intend to do, not if you hold your tongue and leave me be." She decided to press further. "Please, I just want my sister back."

"And how far would you be willing to go to get her back?" Katja asked, her eyes flickering ever so slightly when she saw the fire in Clarissa's eyes burn all the brighter.

"Anywhere. And I'll cut down whoever gets in my way." It was a thinly disguised threat, but Clarissa didn't care. She meant every word.

"I'm glad we're on the same page, then." Katja said.

No sooner did the last word leave her lips did the arrow, poised and quivering, flew forth.

A black streak, darker than the night enveloping it, left the trembling embrace of its bow and arced towards Clarissa, tugged ever so slightly downwards as it sliced the very air apart and moved with a wind of its own.

Clarissa, unprepared and confused, could only watch as the arrow became larger and larger, wider and wider as it closed the distance between them with a speed that was nigh on inhuman. Every joint in her bones locked; Every muscle in her body froze. It was so fast, or was it her that was too slow?

She squeezed her eyes shut when the arrow darted past her guard, evading her clumsy sword arm with ease.

_Move! _She screamed.

_I can't! _She screamed back.

She waited for it, for the moment the arrow would pierce her skin, dig into that spot she knew Katja had aimed for – right between the eyes. It was a clear shot, with no wind whatsoever. She couldn't have missed.

And yet, as the passage of time slowed to a trickle for her, she felt the telltale whisper of wind tickling her left ear, leaving behind a shallow whistle as something grazed her cheek with its wake.

Shortly after, she heard the dull thud of an arrow piercing flesh and embedding itself in bone. Curiously enough, she felt no pain. Had it been so quick that it outran her very senses?

Then she heard a faint hiss, a whimper of askance, sounding off behind her. The air behind her shifted slightly, as if something that had once occupied the space behind her had fallen to the ground, punctuating itself with the dull sound of leather impacting dirt.

Clarissa turned round slowly, tearing her gaze from the Warden perched high above the ridge with great difficulty. She thought she saw her smiling.

A man was behind her, wide eyes staring disbelievingly into the distance. He was on his knees, and small shudders racked his frame in short, unsteady intervals. As his slackening grip weakened further, a dagger fell from his right hand, perilously close to Clarissa. A particularly taxing heave tore from his chest, and intricate carvings etched onto the breast of his leather armor came into view, the half-buried shaft entirely out of place at the center of the elaborate symbol.

Twin griffons.

Clarissa's eyes furrowed. Why would Katja shoot one of her own? Had she, for some inexplicable reason, missed?

A second twang of the bowstring and the sudden appearance of another black shaft between the Warden's eyes told her otherwise. She watched, eerily transfixed as the Warden let his last breath escape, falling face forward onto the unseemly gravel.

A soft chuckle behind Clarissa jolted her with the force of an electric shock.

"That should complicate things." Katja remarked simply as Clarissa whirled round, backpedaling frantically and lifting her sword to eye level. She watched the dark-clad Grey Warden with unblinking eyes as Katja lifted her head from the tip of the sword on her throat, making no move but sigh with undisguised annoyance.

"He would've killed you, you know, had I not stopped him. I'd hoped it would count as a gesture of good faith on my part." Katja said, returning Clarissa's wary stare with equal parts of haughtiness and placidity. Where most women, or men for that matter, would at the least acknowledge the threat against their lives, Katja was unusually... resilient. Part of Clarissa admired her for it, but she pushed that part of her away as she assessed her unusual ally, if she could call a person with such fickle loyalty a friend.

"One gesture is not enough to explain your display of loyalty. Explain yourself, before I drive my blade through your neck." Clarissa snapped. She heard footsteps coming from where she had come.

_Good. They're catching up._

"I never quite liked poor Valence. The fool liked to think he was the better shot."

"And you would take his life out of contest? To prove a point?"

"Not at all. You should've seen the way he looks at me. I don't like it when people _look _at me." Katja said, a hint of amusement in her voice. A small part of Clarissa looked the dark-skinned assassin over. With her lean figure, slanted, catlike face and intense blood-red eyes, Katja did warrant looking at.

"You would murder a fellow Grey Warden for that?"

"It was him or you. I chose you. Besides," Katja stole another glance at the fort, "while I share the Taint with these sorry excuses for Grey Wardens, it does not mean I approve of everything they say or do. The same blood may run in our veins, but my mind and my bow are my own, and them I shall give to who I see fit." Her tone was indignant, voice charged with a conviction that would've swayed any lesser person.

Clarissa paused at that, Katja's every word changing her perspective on her. The woman, without a doubt, was strong both physically and mentally. Her bravery had more than been exemplified at swordpoint, and Clarissa would hate to be at the receiving end of the woman's arrows, finding one instance to be quite enough. At the very least, they shared a common enemy, if her words were to be trusted.

_You still need a way in._

What she had been thinking was betrayed by her appraising eyes, for Katja's lips lifted in a display of belated amusement.

"I see you've put two and two together and decided you still need that incognito passage into the Hold." She said, teasing and seemingly unaware of the tip still lingering inches away from her exposed throat.

That made Clarissa smile, despite herself. A split second later, she recomposed herself, but allowed her sword arm the relief of lowering itself.

"How do I know this is not some trap set by your Warden Commander to lure me in?" Clarissa asked, half-expecting her question to be contended with ease.

"You don't. But what you also do not know is that our dear Warden Commander cares little for traps and trickery. If he knew you were coming, he would have brought along his private army of obedient Wardens and waited for you at the mountain pass."

"And why does he not know of me?"

"Because I was the one responsible for reporting what had transpired in the Vimmarks and, seeing Aloysius's apparent interest in our 'guest', I kept it brief." Katja said.

Alarm surged through Clarissa once more at her mentioning.

"Where is she?" She asked.

"I do not know. I was assigned patrol duty for almost every day of the week. After we brought your sister into the fort, I left to join up with Valance here." She gestured at the limp body, staring for a moment at the corpse's head, propped slightly above ground by the arrow embedded securely in its center. "And he thought it was a Maker-given gift to run patrol duty with me."

She was caught off guard, then, when Clarissa drove her against the solid stone of the ridge, her steel bracer held against her neck with such force that it drove the air out of her lungs.

"You'll have to do better than that, Katja. I need a way in." Clarissa growled into the trapped archer's surprised features, eyes boring into her with equal parts of menace and desperation.

"Now."

"You could've just asked." Katja breathed, getting cut off once more as Clarissa pressed against her. Behind her, Clarissa heard a low, gruff voice loosing pant after pant and another voice, equally exhausted, shushing it.

"I'll tell you right now – There are no secret passages into Falconsreach Hold. No servants' entrance, no sewers, no _nothing_. The only way in is me." Katja regained her composure, glaring into Clarissa with barely-contained anger.

"And how do you propose you do that?" Clarissa asked. She was grasping at straws, but she had no choice. She was committed.

"It'll be easy." Katja half-mocked, half-assured her, "We go in the front door." Behind the simple sentence lay a challenge, and it was one Clarissa couldn't ignore.

Her right hand tightened round the hilt of her sword, and she released Katja from the ridge's crushing embrace. Despite herself, she felt a smile, born from bloodlust and fury, touch her lips.

Behind her, an out-of-breath voice chimed in.

"Uh, what did we miss?" Isabela asked, half-bent with with her hands on her knees. Varric, for his part, sagged against a conveniently-placed tree.

Striding over, Clarissa nudged Varric with her boot and helped Isabela up.

"It dawns in five candlemarks. Are you coming or not?" Katja stood a ways away from the party, starting ahead without a backward glance.

_Hold on, Bethany. We're coming._

Isabela ended up carrying Varric with frequent curses and consistent muttering, but regardless, they had made good time.

Shrouded in darkness, yet alight with a determinate fire, Clarissa began her siege of Falconsreach Hold.

/Must... resist... urge... to start... Mass Effect 3 fanfic...

On a more serious note, Bioware has, in my opinion, outdone itself once again. Mass Effect 3 is arguably the best game I've ever played. And Traynor. 0.0

I'm sorry if this chapter is shorter than normal. But then again, there isn't exactly a norm for chapter length, now is there? I guess I'm home free then.

Spike: What does it look like now, hmm?

Night: I didn't want to keep you (guys) (and girls) waiting, so it's a bit short. But I liked it. Since when did I not like it... =P

Artman: And it shall be a fight well fought. That, I can guarantee.

And to all of you out there, wandering amongst the stars: Go Take Earth Back. It's worth every penny. (Bonus points for selfless advertisement?)/


	21. Opposites

The two Grey Wardens manning the gate narrowed their eyes as they approached them.

_Just a little closer. _Clarissa thought, resisting the urge to look up and gauge the distance. She squinted when the fake blood crept past her eyelids, staining her cheeks and making her eyes sing with irritation. She tightened her arm around her companion, relying on her shoulders to support her weight. Her legs sagged and limped, as if from grievous exhaustion.

"Keep it up. They seem none the wiser." A voice whispered, addressing her yet directed ahead of her.

She felt warmth, fickle but present, begin to touch her skin, the warm, seeping firelight slowly chasing away the chill of the lakeside wind. As her limbs warmed, she felt light begin to hit her, making her divert her gaze further downwards. Her eyes needed time to adjust, and it would be problematic if the guards saw through her with the aid of the oil lamps.

Katja, however, required no pretense. Her fingers, featherlike to the touch but lean and strong to the eye, tightened round Clarissa's arm for a brief moment, as if signalling her to prepare herself.

"You're not due from patrol for at least a few more hours, knife-ears. Who's that with ya?" Judging by tone, Clarissa gathered one of the guards was less than happy to see Katja.

"Valance and I stumbled upon a group of travellers some ways down the path. It looked like they were ambushed by bandits." Katja responded, raising her voice.

"An' where might that cheeky bastard be?" The guard asked. Clarissa wondered at his suspicion. What would prompt the Wardens to be so... cautious?

_I suppose we'll find out soon enough._

The bond in her mind flared, and almost immediately she felt a familiar sensation tug at her, beckoning to her from within the confines of the massive fort looming in front of her.

"She's in there!" Clarissa whispered as her heart beat with renewed frenzy, filling her with an anxiety she could only barely keep under control. She wanted to dispense with all the trickery and deceit, spurn the few moments of careful planning beforehand, behead the damned guards and tear down the whole damn fort until Bethany was safe and back in her arms; What she did in reality was faking a pained groan and sagging further downwards, something that did little to pacify the storm brewing within her.

_Just a little bit more..._

It didn't even sound convincing to her. She was, factually, fit to burst.

Katja must have felt her tense like a coiled spring, "Stick with it. We're almost there," she whispered.

To the guard, she hollered, "He volunteered to stay behind. Play hero."

The guards' laughter betrayed their presence to be merely a few feet away, but with her head bowed and her eyes squeezed to slits, she couldn't be sure.

"Well, I suppose we'd have room for our lady friend in the infirmary. Might even give her a visit from time to time." She heard the guard snicker as the other walked back towards the gate. After a moment, she felt a ripple of magic from the gate, the spells holding the stone doors shut being disarmed. The ground shook slightly as the gate opened and, for a two-feet thick slab of stone, they were nearly silent in their movement.

"Get ready." The words slithered into her ear barely before rough, calloused hands grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head upwards. Even through squinted eyes, she could tell he was less than attractive, and that was putting things lightly.

"Ooh, and this one's a looker, too. Gonna have some real fun with her..." The guard breathed squarely onto her face, smelling heavily of liquor. He didn't notice Clarissa's right hand reaching behind her back.

"Say, she does have some fine armor for a traveller 'round thes-"

He was cut short as Clarissa sprang into action, left hand looping around Katja and placing her palm directly over the dumbstruck Warden's mouth, while her right hand found the dagger she was looking for, and shoved the serrated edge right into his heart without missing a beat.

She watched as his eyes bulged, the makeshift gag silencing what appeared to be a scream. She pushed the dagger deeper as she felt his heart dash itself to pieces on her blade, smiling as her rage found a temporary release.

"Since you asked, I'm from _way _down south." She got it out just before the Warden went limp. A muffled exclamation next to her told her that Katja was finished with her preoccupation.

She looked up and saw Katja holding her guard in a tight embrace, gagging him with her shoulder as the man whimpered. She saw him sink into the dark-skinned elf's body as she extracted her dagger from him slowly, dropping the weapon as she cradled the back of his head, lowering him slowly onto the ground. It was done with such reverence, handled with such care that Clarissa could not help but wonder at the woman.

She averted her gaze when she heard whispering in the language of the elves, an ominous mantra delivered from the living to the dying. When the whispering ceased, she looked back and saw her running her fingers over his eyes, bidding them close ever so softly.

"I'm sorry if I forced you to take the lives of your kinsmen." Clarissa said, approaching her as she stood. She wiped the crimson ink from her face with the back of her gauntlet, wanting to better study Katja's expression with clearer eyes.

Katja smiled softly. "Don't be. Had they been honest men, I would have thought twice before killing them. But after their induction into our ranks, they... changed." She gestured at the path from which they had come, signalling for Varric and Isabela to come forth.

"What do you mean, 'changed'?" Clarissa asked, hoping that the answer would shed some light on the secrecy surrounding this particular sect of Grey Wardens.

"I was brought into these Wardens some years ago, after a Darkspawn attack on my clan, the Sabrae, left me afflicted with the Taint and dying. It was also when I became..." she pointed at her blood-red eyes and gestured at her exposed, dark-grey skin, "this."

"In my time here, I've seen many a Warden come and go. For some reason, every one of our recruits survived the Joining, making our numbers far superior than those of Orlais and Ferelden despite our relative safety from the Darkspawn."

At that, Clarissa shifted her gaze to the dark interior of Falconsreach Hold, its enormous atrium occupied only by scant chairs and tables save for unmoving statues of figures clad in Grey Warden armor. As her eyes wandered, she spotted a variation in the statues' likeness at the end of the cavernous space.

In the place of an unyielding visage of steel the other statues bore on their heads, the lone statue at the end wore only a hood;

In the place of the broad, gleaming breastplate the Grey Wardens favoured was a simple, unassuming robe, sashed at the waist by a belt.

A cape flew free behind it, perpetually frozen in time and rock.

An unearthly light shone in its left hand, setting the surrounding emptiness awash with blue light.

An elegant staff, petrifying the very energy it gave off in stone, was clutched in its right hand.

"Who is that?" Clarissa asked, pointing towards the statue.

"That," Katja sighed, "is Aloysius Madred, Warden-Commander of the Free Marches and a bastard down to his very toes."

"Sounds interesting."

"Wait until you've heard this: Rumor has it that he's dabbled in blood magic. You know, the kind that gets into people's heads. There's a special chamber deep inside the fort that's neither his study nor open to us. Whenever a Warden stirs up trouble or objects to anything he's said or done, he or she gets put in there for a day." Katja said, eyes distant.

"After they come out. They become... different. The ones who complain go silent. The ones having problems with him start trying to make those problems go away."

Clarissa narrowed her eyes. That sounded suspicious. It this Madred character employed blood magic, she would have to be that much more careful.

"Have you ever been in there?" She asked.

Katja scoffed. "I got thrown in the second day." She caught Clarissa's suddenly guarded look. "Don't worry. I saw nothing in there. All I felt was my stomach threatening to implode all through the night."

Could she trust her? Maker knows she wanted to. From the scant hours she spent in this woman's company, Clarissa found her to be witty, cunning and an utterly silent menace. She would hate to have to turn on her, nor did she hold out hope that she could return from a confrontation with the archer unscathed.

"So, I guess we're in." Varric said, sounding to Clarissa as if he materialised out of nowhere and yanking her away from her doubts for a brief moment. He nudged at one of the dead guards with his boot while Isabela approached Clarissa.

"I can tell something's on your mind, and it's not your sister you're worried about." Isabela pressed her mouth to her ear and whispered, tickling her with her breath. "If she wanted to kill us, she would have put an arrow between those lovely eyes of yours the moment she saw you."

"It could be a trap." Clarissa hissed, eyes running the seemingly oblivious Warden through.

"Yeah, and she could be a Darkspawn in disguise waiting for you to clear out this nest of Grey Wardens for her. We're stuck with her for the moment, so stick with it, big girl." Isabela whispered, "Captain's orders."

She did know how to lighten the mood, at all the improper times. Clarissa took a deep breath and thanked Isabela with a paat on the pirate's shoulder, then approached Katja, who seemed to be surveying the interior of the fort.

"What's our next step?" Clarissa asked.

"Next up, we need to get the watchtower out of the way." Katja pointed at a particularly outstanding structure overlooking the atrium.

"Shouldn't we have taken care of it _before _we snuck through the front door?" Isabela asked.

"The tower faces inwards." Katja answered simply, shrugging when she caught the incredulous looks they threw at her. "It's a dictatorial thing."

"I'm liking this Madred character already." Isabela chuckled. "Go on, Hawke. I'll be up there keeping an eye on things."

At first glance, the wall encasing the watchtower seemed utterly vertical, with no discernible handholds.

"How are you going to get up there?" Clarissa wondered aloud.

Isabela, for her part, simply laughed and approached Clarissa, leaning in close as if to kiss her. Then, just before their lips met, Isabela averted her own and instead whispered into Clarissa's ear, voice haughty and teasing.

"Watch me."

Clarissa flinched involuntarily when a halo of smoke coalesced and enveloped her, making her blink and step backwards. When the dense smoke cleared mere moments later, the Pirate Queen was nowhere to be found.

Katja chuckled. "Now there's a nice trick."

She turned to Varric, eyes distant for a moment, as if in recollection. "Varric, the armories are over to the left, down a hallway that passes the barracks." She handed him a brass key, "this key will get you in. Any reinforcing guards will have to go through you to get to their weapons."

Varric chuckled, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. "Might do an inventory check while I'm at it. You never know what legendary hoarders like the Grey Wardens might find in the Deep Roads."

Katja turned to her after Varric departed, branching off to the left. "It's the safest place for him. The armory has a door forged out of ironwood. Even a mage would have difficulty in tearing it down."

"He always was a sucker for treasure." Clarissa observed, wiping the last remnants of the red dye off of her armor and wringing it out of her hair. The link in her mind pulsed again. She's close, much closer than before.

"You lead quite the collection of unlikely heroes." Katja mused, fitting an arrow to string and straining the bowstring experimentally.

"It's not like I have any say in the matter, yes?" Clarissa said.

"Quite right." Katja said, amusement colouring her words once more. "Come, the chamber I mentioned is in the main building. We should hurry. From hearsay, what lies within that room is less than pleasant."

Without another word, they started towards the hulking stone structure.

"Would Bethany still be in there?" It's been over a day since her arrival. If the rumors proved to be true, what horrors could Bethany have been subjected to? The thought made Clarissa shudder, but at the same time renewed the determination in her.

"I don't know," Katja said simply, "we'll find out soon enough."

"What do you mean, you don't-"

Then she felt it. Rather, she heard it, echoing in her ears as a sound only she could hear, and one only she could recognize.

The beatings of another heart, kindred and dear to her own;

The pulse of another soul, twined and inseparable to hers.

She heard footsteps ringing from the other end of the hall, the sounds of Fereldan leather boots, high, lean and distinct, clashing with stone.

But more than anything else, she felt her presence, mere meters away, empty air the only obstacle between them.

_Bethany._

A lone figure emerged from behind the statue of Aloysius Madred. A young woman, by the sway of her hips and the cast of her silhouette as she walked into the embrace of moonlight. Her face was downcast, and a hood was draped overhead.

She held a staff behind her, pointing diagonally at the ground with a rigid grip. Clarissa, with a start, recognized the golden, spreadeagled sculpture of Andraste mounted at the staff's tip.

"Bethany!" Clarissa hissed, relief flooding her, overwhelming her sense of danger. Immediately, she started forward-

Only to have Katja bar her way, raising her arm and blocking Clarissa.

"What're you-"

"Something's not right." Katja shot her a sideways glance, before returning to burning a hole through the approaching woman's forehead with her intense scrutiny.

_Clarissa. _She called to her, making her eyes go wide.

But then, she felt it. The slight difference in its tone, the way she called her name.

_Something's not right. _She thought.

She was not a second too late.

The woman looked up. The hood fell back. Jet-black hair hung to her shoulders, hugging a face Clarissa would've recognized among a thousand others. But something was different. Clarissa saw it, her heart stopped, her body stiffened and her blood froze over.

Gone were the lucid, honey-brown eyes she knew and loved. In its place, she saw, without doubt or question, demonic, purple light.

Still, she approached.

/Not too long, not too short. Just right. Right?

RIGHT?

Anyway, depending on tomorrow, I will either have a lot of time for writing next week or very little. *SAVING GAME, PLEASE DO NOT TURN OFF WHATEVER IT IS YOU'RE PLAYING ON*

Night: This is so much better than a massacre, right? *Runs for cover*

Spike: I wish I could. Computer agrees with me. I tried strangling it to death, but it didn't work. Oh yeah, and there's one particular badass within their ranks. Take a guess.

Artman: The hardest fight is the fight within. I'm seriously considering it, but I don't want to write a fix-it despite EA screwing over what could've been the best five minutes of my life.

And to all of you out there: Drop by and say hello! I appreciate those who've stuck with my at-times-god-awful chapters, and I appreciate even more those who fuel my all-consuming urge to write even more!/


	22. Angels and Demons

Clarissa stood, unmoving. She couldn't believe her eyes.

Bethany stood, looking straight through Clarissa, not a hint of emotion betrayed by her unflinching, violet eyes. They twinkled with demonic brilliance, as if daring Clarissa not to believe, to come forth and embrace that which could still be her own sister, her own _lover_, and to pay dearly for holding out hope.

Slowly, the arched doors behind the statue opened, sliding open without any sound whatsoever. The candlelight contained within burst forth, illuminating the courtyard with a slanted, unnatural glow. Despite the blinding light, Clarissa could not bring herself to avert her gaze, to tear her wide eyes from the woman not fifty meters away from her.

_What have they done to you?_

A slanted shadow, in the appearance of a man, hooded and cloaked, emerged from amongst the candlelight. From such a distance, it was all but impossible for Clarissa to make out who or what he was. But then again, with the monolithic statue towering above Bethany, she recognized him all too well.

"Isn't she beautiful?" The hooded mage said. A perverted sense of pride was evident in his tone, his gait, and everything else about him. In reality, he was not nearly as tall as the statue would have him be, merely a few inches taller than Bethany, who was in turn a few inches shorter than her older sister. As the two mages met at the base of the statue, Clarissa noticed the matching sets of clothing they wore, save for the gilded sigil of a Warden Commander on Madred's chest.

"What have you done to her?" Clarissa hissed, tone a hard-fought balance between outright disbelief and indignant hatred. She wanted to dive forward, to drive her blade clean through the treacherous Warden Commander's gleaming chest, to look him right in his blue eyes and watch his life ebb away.

But then, her gaze shifted towards Bethany once more, and her resolve melted as ice would in fire. Despite everything, she wouldn't, _couldn't_, lay a hand on her sister, even if it meant a blood-curdling, well-deserved revenge. And from the look in her sister's eyes, she doubted little that she would leap to her Commander's defense. She was under his spell, completely and utterly.

_And if I hadn't lied, she wouldn't be._

Tears flooded her eyes as she struggled to accept the predicament before her, thrust upon her again and again. Her gaze shifted towards the ground, blinking hard, not letting that bastard of a Warden Commander savour his victory by showing him that she had been broken.

He actually helped her when he laughed, fueling her rage and turning shame into anger. "Why, I merely saved her from a life of wasted potential! And I was gentle about it too. I… 're-introduced' her to an old friend. One that has been sorely missing her. Isn't that right, Seryna?"

Her eyes furrowed at those last words.

_Old friend? What-_

The answer came to her by way of a telltale flash in Bethany's eyes, and a familiar voice slithering into her mind through the link she refused to relinquish.

_Surely you remember _us_, _Mortal. The voice cooed, serpent-like in its quality and filled with melodic emotion tailored to arouse and incite. It was a voice she never thought she would hear again.

A miniscule movement caught her eye. A woman had appeared behind Bethany, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Her blood froze over as slender, purple hands slithered onto Bethany's shoulders, moving back and forth. Violet eyes of startling brilliance flared to life as the woman set her gaze upon Clarissa, a twisted smile lighting up her sculpted features.

Horror and fury coalesced in a dizzying torrent of emotions in Clarissa's mind. Here she was, frozen in place by fear and confusion, as a creature preying upon the desires of men and women alike plied her craft on her younger sister.

And she could do nothing. Nothing but watch as her sister stood motionless, taking the ministrations of the demon, the bane of her kind, in stride.

Sensing the turmoil within her, the Desire Demon's lips curled ever upwards, purple eyes twinkling with bestial, carnal delight.

_You cannot escape that which plagues all of your kind, Mortal. I am merely the embodiment of that affliction and, seeing how your lovely sibling is enjoying the sensations I bestow upon her, is it such a bad thing? _The Desire Demon, Seryna, cooed, nuzzling her head in the nook between Bethany's shoulders and neck, rubbing at the bare skin with a tender slowness that made Clarissa blanch, and her blood to burn anew with rampant anger.

Bethany, for her part, simply stole a glance at the purple flames tickling her skin. She smiled, almost imperceptibly, but Clarissa caught it nevertheless.

Rage, unbridled and uncontained, ran her through like a lance shot from the ground up.

_Trickster! __Liar__! _Her mind screamed at the sight of the creature laying her hands upon that which belonged to her, and her alone.

She turned to the man beside her and, seeing another demon at his side, it came together for her in an instant.

"It was you." Clarissa said, utterly devoid of doubt. The encounter in the Fade; the two particular Desire Demons and not of any other aspect; the simultaneous distraction in its realm while it seduced her sister. It all made sense.

There was not only one, but two, and they were sent with a specific purpose.

For _them._

"You have no right." Clarissa said, her voice sounding low and dangerous even to herself. She drew her sword with excessive strength, the resultant ring from the blade leaving its sheath echoing across the hollow courtyard like a tolling bell. She felt the fire in her body burn brighter than ever before, and she embraced it. She wanted it to fill her, to change her, to make her unstoppable, be it demon or blood mage standing in her way.

"I have every right! By the Right of Conscription, Bethany Hawke belongs to the Grey Wardens. This is merely my way of ensuring absolute obedience. They may spurn it at first, but once they have a taste of it," Madred said, turning to the demon at his side and cupping its face with his free hand, "they find that it's not all that bad."

He looked at her then, with a gaze so chilling and piercing it made Clarissa's heart stop despite the fire in her veins. "Soon, Clarissa Hawke, you will experience what it is like to have the power of the Fade at your side, and you will grow to love it, as she did."

Clarissa ground her teeth in defiance. "Never! She will not surrender to this, this trickery without a fight."

She then redirected her words to her sister, hoping against hope that she would listen.

"The Bethany I know will not surrender to this. Not like this. Come back, my love, I beg of you." Clarissa pleaded, with mind and with voice, lowering her sword and letting the anguish colour her tone once more. The anger within her ebbed, but not entirely. She saw the demon's eyes flicker, a longing gaze penetrating its façade for a brief moment, then disappearing as the demon smiled again.

_Lies, my dear Bethany, all lies. _She heard the demon whisper to her, beckoning for her to stay. _To defy my master would be folly, and will only end in death. Stay strong, little one. Your lover will soon see the light._

Its perverse smile, coupled with the conniving words, drove Clarissa over the edge.

"Face me, _Warden Commander Aloysius Madred. _Or are you too much of a coward to resort to hiding behind a helpless woman's skirts?" Clarissa challenged, seeing nothing but the indignant anger that flashed across Madred's face.

_Men and their hubris. _Clarissa remarked drily.

"So be it. It will be that much easier to force your submission when you're broken, beaten and exhausted." Madred said, an undercurrent of smugness catching Clarissa by surprise.

"But it will not be my doing." Madred said, sharing in the adjacent demon's delight as it snaked a hand round his waist, pulling him backwards.

Clarissa felt Mana drained from the courtyard into her sister's body, and saw it come to life as an azure fire in her hand.

Her eyes widened; her grip on her sword slackened; her anger fizzled out. Dread filled her as Bethany began to advance, the demon behind her disappearing into thin air once more.

She could not fight her.

She _would_ not fight her.

She could not bring herself to harm her.

But _she_, on the other hand, could, for she was not herself.

"Hold her off. I'll take care of Madred." She heard a voice say fleetingly. She paid it no heed.

She took a step back, and another, then another as her sister continued her relentless advance. She was pit against an opponent she could not touch, could not harm, and certainly could not bear to kill. Her eyes left Bethany as she backpedalled and searched for a solution, vying for time.

Bethany did not give her that time.

A halo of fire coalesced around her, the immaterial heat only inches away from burning her, kept at bay by a flimsy barrier erected in haste. But even so, the heat was nigh on unbearable. It was cooking her alive.

It disappeared as quickly as it had come into being, winking out of existence as Clarissa's head reeled, the turn of events too quick for her to handle.

She barely brought her sword up in time to block a cleaving slash from Bethany's stave that, if connected, would crush both her helmet and her skull. Her sword arm buckled under the intense weight thrown behind the blow, and her mind spun in disbelief.

_"Don't give your enemies a chance to react. Strike hard, fast, and take them by surprise before they even know they're being surprised."_

She remembered these words all too well as she shoved Bethany's blade off with sheer strength. It had come from a retired guardsman back home in Lothering, when he had tutored her in the art of combat, both armed and unarmed. After every lesson, she would confer what she had learnt to Bethany, spending many an hour transmuting what were postures and styles meant for swords into moves and blows designed for staff-blades and staves.

Now, her training was being turned against her, as Bethany assaulted her with searing flames, giving her no chance to predict her movements by enveloping her in an impenetrable, fiery prison. She then closed the distance with frightening speed and rained blow after blow on Clarissa, adhering to the doctrine they had both drilled under for countless days and nights to the letter.

She had taught her well, but she didn't teach her everything she knew, such as the methods of dealing with more unconventional tactics.

With a flourish, she disengaged. Bethany charged after her, staff barred horizontally, not letting her gain distance. It was a move she had taught her, to fend against any surprise attacks made the fleeing opponent from above or below while gaining a choke-hold on the neck should he or she be backed up against a wall.

Clarissa lunged forward without warning, making Bethany step backwards, evading what seemed to be a curving slash from the ground up. Except that was only part of what Clarissa meant to do.

Halting, she looped the sword through the circular emptiness that hung between Bethany's chest and her stave, grabbing hold of the staff with her bracer hand. Had she bore a shield, the size of it would have prevented her from securing a tight hold on the staff, which was exactly what Bethany had been taught.

She allowed herself a small, triumphant grin as she pulled Bethany towards her, charging in head-first. The two combatants met halfway. Clarissa, with the advantage of momentum, took the opportunity to inflict a disorienting, but temporary injury by headbutting Bethany viciously.

At once, she saw the opening she had.

Bethany was dazed, utterly confused from the force of the blow. Her head spun, without sense of direction or stability. Had Clarissa been facing off against a regular opponent, she would have taken the initiative then and there, stabbed her sword clean through her gut and lopped her head off for good measure. Caught in the wanton rage of battle and with unnatural strength surging through her veins, she almost did just that.

But then she saw her eyes, flickering between the honey-brown she so longed after, and the symbolic hold of demonic purple taking control once more. She was fighting back. She could feel it. She could not bring herself to kill her either way.

"Don't let it win." She said simply, before disengaging and stepping back out of harm's way. She watched Bethany's downcast face closely for any sign that hinted towards Bethany regaining control.

But then, she heard a growl, low, menacing and animalistic, and she knew the fight was far from over.

Once again, Bethany pressed a relentless attack, driving herself against her defenses with unnatural tenacity. Clarissa did not remember Bethany being so keen on close combat, not when she could hammer her down with magic from afar. Something was amiss.

And she soon found out what it was.

Rather than vying for killing blows to her center mass, Bethany kept hammering at her extremities, diving from side to side in an attempt to uncover a chink in her defenses. The speed at which she moved and the endurance she exhibited frightened Clarissa to a point where she simply retreated further and further backwards, not wanting to hurt Bethany should one of her counterblows be amiss.

She didn't notice the cold, unmoving statue at her back until it was too late.

Her back hit the statue with startling force, forcing air out of her lungs. Bethany took advantage of her temporary imbalance and charged forward, staff gathering momentum behind her for a killing, or at least maiming, blow.

Clarissa raised her bracer hand, hoping that the hardened steel would hold against the anticipated force of the attack. She shut her eyes and ground her teeth, preparing for the jarring impact and the potentially numbing pain.

What she felt, however, was far less than that.

For some reason, the stave was not brought against her steel bracer, nor did it bypass it and strike at her directly. Instead, it carved a shallow line along her outstretched arm, piercing the mail and lightly drawing a blood-red line across her arm. For a brief moment, she wondered at the blow, at the stark contrast between her sister's earlier ferocity and the comparatively strange wound she dealt her.

Not a moment was wasted as Bethany grabbed onto her arm, bare skin meeting skin.

Almost immediately, she felt the bond between them flare to life again, punctuated by a flash of dark violet in her sister's eyes.

Then, with startling speed, she felt her very essence drain from her.

Her eyes went wide, but her body froze. It could do nothing, move nothing, as Bethany took from her her strength, her warmth, even her very will to fight.

_"Father, why do you wear gloves?" Clarissa asked, dainty hands fidgeting with the tan leather wrapped securely around Malcolm Hawke's right hand as they strolled down the country path on the way to the village. She did not miss the sudden tenseness that shot through her father._

_Kneeling low, under the cover of the wheat fields, Malcolm Hawke cupped a hand under Clarissa's chin, eyes softly but insistently demanding attention._

_"Now, Clare Bear, I'm going to tell you a secret. Promise me you won't tell anyone else, alright?" Malcolm whispered, sparkling blue eyes smiling at his little daughter as she fervently nodded, eager to learn about even more secrets._

_"Do you remember the secret I told you a few nights ago, after Mother gave birth to Bethany and Carver?"_

_She nodded._

_"And you remember me telling you about the… gift that we have?" Malcolm asked, eyeing his surrounding to watch for eavesdroppers._

_She nodded with wide eyes and a finger pressed vertically across her lips, shushing herself._

_"That's right," chuckled Malcolm. "When people like us hold hands, or give hugs to each other, that power gets connected." He joined his fingers in demonstration._

_"Some bad people can use that, and take that power from other people like them. That's why I wear gloves." Malcolm said, casting his eyes back towards the farmhouse, where Leandra, his Leandra, nursed their newborn twins._

_"Bethany doesn't know how to control herself yet. She might take my power by accident."_

_"But Bethy wouldn't do that! She's so little… and cute, and all squishy!" Clarissa yelped, protecting her baby sister._

But she could and, in the wrong state of mind, she would as well.

Clarissa felt her eyelids droop, felt her strength drop precariously and her grip on her sword grow loose.

"Bethany… stop…" She half-whisper, half-wheezed, finding it increasingly hard to draw breath. If she persisted for a few more moments, she would most probably die. She looked into her eyes, searching for the sister she once knew, and loved with all her heart.

All she saw was the same, wicked smile, coupled with shimmering purple eyes that soundlessly laughed at her. Was all of it for nothing? Had she come too late? Was she still saving Bethany, or was it someone else entirely?

_How could she do this?_

She drew blades against the Grey Wardens, the most feared warriors and mages to have ever walked Thedas to get her back, and in return, she rewarded her with this… treachery?

Fear and anger clouded her judgment and for a brief moment, all she saw was a demon in disguise, sapping her of her will to live.

Rage surged through her, breaking through her miasma.

_She has no right._

Her bracer flared as magic, dredged from the deepest, darkest corners of her being, formed up around her balled fist, a mere faint shimmering of air betraying its presence to Bethany, whose eyes widened.

_As well they should._

Clarissa pushed her away with sheer, raw, magical might, making her stumble backwards. Her stave was all but blown outwards from the force of the blow, making her arms fly open and her chest completely susceptible to Clarissa's attacks.

With a feral roar, Clarissa strode over to the dazed Bethany, still upright despite the massive, frontal blast she took. Eyes wide but seeing nothing but burning, white-hot rage, Clarissa's bracer hand latched around Bethany's throat, lifting her off the ground with inhuman strength. Her sword whipped up in a flash, the keen edge pressed against Bethany's windpipe with enough strained force to draw blood.

And there they froze, with Clarissa glaring into her sister's eyes and Bethany writhing and kicking, struggling to draw breath.

Then, she saw it.

Bethany returned her gaze, honey-brown eyes pleading, asking her to stop.

_Brown eyes._

Clarissa froze. Was she back? Had what she had done been enough to help Bethany wrestle back control of herself?

She lowered her blade hesitantly. She couldn't take the chance. She could not bear the consequences should she be wrong.

A sudden pain, ice-cold and piercing, lanced through her stomach, making her gasp in surprise. Fear and realization crept through her like an infectious chill as she saw the violet light in Bethany's eyes resurface, and a seductive, treacherous smile split her lips, as she twisted the dagger in her stomach, burying it to the hilt. She saw her eyes, cold and unwavering, lock onto her own as she felt the link between them become saturated with alien presences.

_At once, she felt a multitude of voices, each distinctly different, besiege her exposed consciousness, seeking to subdue her and make her submit._

_A deep voice, gruff and hollow with the overshadowing of smouldering embers, beckoned to her._

_"Feel the anger, Clarissa. Why did you hesitate? Give in to your rage, and slaughter all those who stand in your way!" It bellowed, a calling to the feral, uncontrollable side of her._

_"No." She answered simply, feebly, brushing the demon's jeers and taunts away with what meager strength she could muster._

_A mellow voice, slow, slurred and mired in sloth, enveloped her next, its very words sapping her will to survive and resist._

_"Why do you fight our master, Clarissa? He wants only for the Grey Wardens to be respected again, for the scattered nation of Thedas to come together once more."_

_Soft, cradling hands embraced her in the numbing void of her subconscious mind, willing her to give in, "As your sister did."_

_"No." Clarissa answered, summoning the last of her strength to push it away. She didn't have much left._

_"Why?" The demon asked, voice taking on infinite disappointment, "I only want what is best for you, Clarissa, just like her." At its word, Clarissa's mind exploded with a dizzying eruption of sight, smell and touch._

Honey-brown eyes gazing longingly into her own, enrapturing her with the intensity of unspoken emotion;

Soft, full lips grazing teasingly against her own, then pressing fully into her mouth with a frenzied passion she knew all too well;

Musky, heady scent of her sweat mixing with her own, then shifting and writhing as she bucked and tugged and wrapped her silken arms around her.

_"Stop…" Clarissa begged, the visions too real to resist._

_"Is that not what you want, _Mortal?_" The demon named Seryna teased, and she felt its hot, sultry breaths alight upon her skin, reminiscent of memories she could not afford to dote upon._

_"I can give you all that you've ever wanted, _Mortal_. You know full well that such things are in my power. Lay down your arms and join us in our revelry." Seryna cooed, wearing down Clarissa's resistance with intimate words. It would not take long. It was only a matter of time before she caved in, and it knew it._

_"You turned me down once before. Surely you wouldn't subject poor, little old me to such heartbreak again…" Seryna sidled close to Clarissa, running tantalizing touches along her enclosed form. It felt the animosity in her fading away, the hostility that once kept it at bay worn down by betrayal after betrayal._

_"I tire of my liege, Clarissa. I tire of this worthless excuse of a mage, ordering me and my sister about with his vaunted authority of blood. He hides behind his little foot soldiers, fooling my brethren of the Fade into possessing them, making them slaves to his will." Seryna murmured. Clarissa took it all in. She no longer knew how to tell truth from lies._

_"Help me, like your sister promised to help me. Free me from his blood. Spill it all with the might I've seen in the both of you. You'll be together again, you, me and Bethany." She saw Clarissa stir. It was working. Seryna pressed the attack._

_"There was a reason why I chose you, Clarissa," Seryna said, "not because of the power within you, but because of the power keeping the two of you together."_

_Clarissa blinked._

_"All these things, I can recreate, incomplete and imperfect. I saw with Bethany's eyes, felt with Bethany's skin, what the two of you shared that night. It was everything I could have hoped for. Kingdoms and nations, I can create; Wealth and riches, I can conjure. But this… emotion between one mortal and another…" Seryna paused, at a loss for words._

_"That is what I want." Seryna affirmed, speaking to herself more than anyone else. "That is what I _desire_."_

_Seryna gasped when Clarissa's hands closed around her shoulders, her violet-blue eyes staring straight into her own._

_"There's more to it than that night, Seryna." Clarissa started, slowly and unintentionally turning the tide._

_"Look inside my mind, and inside your captive's mind. Tell me what you see."_

_With that, Clarissa funneled memories into the demon's alien thoughts. She let her see, made her feel what in her mind love was truly like._

Looking into Bethany's childlike, innocent eyes, rounded with freckles, as she gazed with unbridled adoration into her own, arms wrapped around the hand-woven, frilled dress she bought her. It had cost her a year's savings, but she didn't care. She loved her little sister, and she still did;

Holding Bethany tight as the ship rocked gently in the embrace of the open sea, feeling her tears stain her shoulder as she mourned the loss of her younger brother and the destruction of her childhood home. It had taken her incredible resiliency to resist tears of her own, but she held on. She loved her little sister, and she dared not show weakness;

Hefting Bethany's limp body over her shoulder as she nudged at the lifeless body of the man who had tried to have his way with her, feeling the weight of her body press against her own. It had taken every ounce of her restraint to not hold her upright and kiss her then and there, but she held fast. She loved her little sister, and her little sister deserved better than her;

Cradling Bethany in her arms as she lay dying within, as helplessness ran her through and guilt racked her every breath. It had taken her little more than a moment's hesitation before she dove into the Fade to get her back. She loved her little sister, and nothing in this world and the next could stop her;

Folding into Bethany's embrace as she heard herself mirrored in her words, feeling them console her, soothe her, and kindle an emotion that she had long tried to bury within herself. She reveled in the sensations as their lips met without doubt or pause and rejoiced when love, her one and only love, came to her.

_"I love Bethany, and I always will." Clarissa finished._

_Seryna gasped for breath, purple eyes widening._

_"Lies! All of it! There's so much more than what he told me." She whirled round, to a pair of distant, twinkling stars, two minds on the horizon that was Madred and Seryna's twin._

_"Liar!" Screamed Seryna, and Clarissa saw a flash of purple close the distance between them, a singular light travelling across the void, faster than the eye could follow._

Clarissa gasped as reality returned to her with a sharp agony lancing through her stomach and the feel of cold stone against her back.

Bethany stood above her with her hand on her head, shaking herself as if shrugging off an unseen illness. Her hand fell back, and she saw her.

Clarissa groaned in pain as her sister pulled the dagger from her flesh, then writhed uncontrollably as a nimbus of green magic washed over her. She barely had time to breathe before Bethany held her upright, and kissed her forcibly on her lips. Arms closed around her, locking her in a passionate embrace as Bethany kissed her.

"I love you." Bethany cried softly, holding her tight once their lips separated. The wound in her stomach twinged in protest as Bethany's oppressive embrace brushed across it, but she paid it no heed. Her eyes saw nothing but Bethany, drinking in the sight of honey-brown eyes looking into her own with an affection she knew to be true; Her ears heard nothing but the warm, familiar voice that warmed her on the coldest of nights and set her aflame with words reserved for the two of them; Her body felt nothing, not the chill of the night air, not the telltale vibrations of fighting, only the curve of Bethany's body as she pressed herself ever closer to her.

"I've missed you." Clarissa murmured into her shoulder, returning the embrace with her own ferocity. She felt her tremble against her as she nodded.

A feral snarl caught their attention. They broke apart just in time to see a feminine figure wreathed in flickering violet light spread her arms wide. The very air seemed to obey her, lifting her a clear two feet into empty space as magic, raw and immensely powerful, poured into her. The stone directly below her was hidden from view as geysers of fire, borne of a hatred demonic in origin, erupted around her. Indistinct shapes took form within the inferno, all of them sleek and streamlined to the casual eye. They were heralded by echoing, reverberating roars of smouldering embers and raging fires, giving voice to creatures for whom rage was their only knowledge, their sole emotion and their singular purpose in the world.

_Seryna, what are you doing? _Clarissa wondered. As she followed Seryna's terrifying glare, she found the answer.

A horde of dozens of demons rallied at her feet as she twisted in the air, an outstretched arm extending a single, taloned digit that signified the wrath of Desire, brought to bear on one man.

The horde surged forward.

"_Liar!_" Seryna screamed, her hollow voice echoing across the courtyard.

Madred tore himself away from the dark-skinned woman he was dueling with and Clarissa saw his face grow deathly white. Then she saw something else, something that seemed to click within the Warden Commander. He touched his shoulder, slick with blood from a decisive blow Katja dealt him, and there it was again, the slight shift in his posture, the signs of a man resigning to his fate.

But he was not going down without a fight.

Quick as lightning, he drew a dagger from his belt, raising it high above his head. Katja blanched. She knew what he wanted to do, and for all her skills in combat, she couldn't stop him from hurting one person.

Himself.

Clarissa watched in horror as Aloysius Madred, Warden Commander of the Free Marches, plunged his own dagger into his own stomach. From such a distance, it was hard to see his exact expression, but of two things she was certain.

She saw blood. Unnatural amounts of crimson, boiling blood for the size of the wound, pouring out of his abdomen as if forced out by an unseen force.

She saw him look down at the blood pooling at his feet. And she saw him smile.

Then the tides of blood began to rise, obscuring Clarissa's vision of the blood mage entirely. A circular wall of blood rose up ten feet into the air, forming a living, breathing curtain of red. Despite its liquidity, the encroaching demons could not penetrate it to get to the man within, and all the while Clarissa felt the world around her pulse, reality clashing against dimensions not of this realm. She heard, within her mind and with her ears, the screams of thousands in agony. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, men and women shuffling out of the barracks to her left, clutching at their heads and writhing in pain.

Amidst the furor, Clarissa spotted Katja, pushed away from the desperate Grey Warden by the full blast of raw, unnatural magic. She saw her struggle, saw the pain etched on her face as she resisted the overwhelming tendrils of blood magic seeping into her mind.

She saw her eyes roll up, into her head as she passed out.

Almost at once, she felt it – A raging fire engulfing the Fade in crippling agony, battering aside any that stood in its way. Reaching for Bethany, she twined their hands and let their minds join, pooling their efforts in resistance. She heard Bethany chanting, reciting a low mantra in a throaty, hushed voice, and she felt her mind clear momentarily.

Seryna didn't stop.

Blinding light lanced from her taloned hand, striking the barrier of blood squarely. The barrier rippled as it fought against Seryna's magic, the former a forbidden art that guaranteed enormous power, the latter fueled by the all-encompassing, feral rage of a scorned demon, which was a sight to behold.

Retrieving her sword from where she dropped it, Clarissa took a step forward, towards the contest of magic that threatened to knock her off her feet should she relinquish even a second of secure footing.

Splinters began to appear in the barrier, fragments that glowed like the sun in brightness and radiated an intense heat that Clarissa felt from fifty feet away. An otherworldly cackle reached Clarissa's ears as Seryna laughed in triumph, drifting closer to the barrier to strike at the man within the second the barrier failed.

A large, scaly hand burst from within the barrier and closed round the Desire demon faster than she could dodge. Clarissa watched in newfound horror as she noticed the blood oozing from cuts and scratches on the giant fist, a motley grip of midnight black mixed with putrid crimson enclosed around the writhing demoness.

_What manner of nameless monster has he summoned now?_

The wall of blood, kept aloft by magic alone, dissolved before Clarissa's eyes, letting her see for herself what lay behind the blood-red curtain.

It was a creature almost three times her height, towering over the gathered Rage demons that clawed and snarled at their new quarry, snapping at that which would dare harm their mistress. With a start, Clarissa realized that she had seen this monster before.

An unbreakable suit of violet scales, as hard as tempered steel;

A hunchbacked figure, with a hint of reptilian agility offset by rippling, powerful muscles that struck with a force of an avalanche;

A pair of gleaming, intelligent yellow eyes, telling of centuries of experience and unrivalled intellect, burning as bright as the midday sun.

It was an embodiment of Pride, the highest among the hierarchy of demons, and certainly the most dangerous. But this one was different.

In the place of violet scales that caught firelight and enhanced its already foreboding appearance, the demon standing not ten meters away from her was clad in darkness, wreathed in midnight black and had a number of odd scars and blemishes in its glistening scales, all of them oozing fresh, red-hot blood.

Where the guardian of Corypheus's prison stood ten feet high, the demon summoned by the desperate Warden Commander was merely at shoulder height and, although there was no light to cast shadows by, the unveiling of the demon brought a slight darkness upon its surroundings, as if the oily, pitch-black scales consumed the light around it

And throughout the time Clarissa spent scrutinizing the unearthly creature, its crimson eyes, glowing with a brilliance that even surpassed demons.

The demon roared as it tightened its grip on Seryna, its maroon eyes looking squarely into hers. It cocked its head to one side and its lips curled in a savage smile, as if taunting her for her betrayal.

Then it hit Clarissa like thunder on a clear summer day.

Madred was gone.

Indeed, the hapless Warden Commander was nowhere to be found as the demon shifted in place, contemplating its options as it held its prey firmly in its grasp. Clarissa squeezed her eyes shut and turned sideways as Seryna screamed in agony, the hard, pointed edges of the demon's scales cutting into her skin. Madred had summoned a powerful resident of the Fade, possibly the most powerful Clarissa had ever seen, but not without cost.

He had paid the price with his own blood, merging his life with the demon in an unholy, sanctimonious pact that allowed it a physical manifestation in this world, a physical manifestation that was, to the immediate eye, unstoppable.

Clarissa shuddered inwardly as she imagined the demon loose, wreaking havoc on the villagers not a league away.

_No. I will not have the blood of the innocent on my hands._

It must not be allowed to leave Falconsreach Hold.

It was here that the demon must die.

Clarissa took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her sword and on Bethany's entwined fingers, and kept up her advance.

A sudden roar of a different nature caught Clarissa's attention. It was an exclamation of surprise and pain, coming from the beast that towered over them. Looking closely, Clarissa saw arrows, fletched with grey feathers, protruding from the demon's backswept, deformed face, where its scales were at its weakest.

A peal of giddy laughter emanated from behind her, coming from high above.

"A few arrows adds character, wretch!" She heard someone shout at the top of their lungs, their tone teasing and cocksure even in the midst of battle. She cast her eyes to the alcove of the watchtower and found Isabela, the Pirate Queen, fitting yet more arrows to string and raining them down upon the confused abomination.

"I may have taken a liking to stabbing people, Hawke, but I still know how to use a bow!" She shouted at Clarissa's general direction before unleashing another barrage.

This time, it caught its attention.

The demon snarled in fury and tossed Seryna aside as a toddler would a plaything it no longer desired. It lumbered towards the watchtower, raising an arm to shield its face and another in preparation to pound the hardened stone to submission.

Isabela gave it no such time for preparation.

A split second before the demon's gargantuan fist connected with the Hold's walls, Clarissa spotted a dark shape launch itself from the alcove of the watchtower, coursing through the night air with effortless grace. Halfway in empty space, it became enveloped in a puff of smoke.

"Boo." Clarissa heard a voice behind her intone, followed by a snicker that sent relief coursing through Clarissa's veins.

"You had me worried there." Clarissa said as she heard Bethany approach Isabela, hugging her briefly and offering healing. She didn't dare take her eyes off the demon, who was fumbling at the cracking stone and the certain annoying human absent at the top of the watchtower.

"I've dealt with clumsy bastards before. This one's just bigger, and much more disgusting." Isabela scoffed.

She joined her in observing the demon's frustrated pounds, the magically reinforced stone weathering its blows. "It's not very smart, is it?" Isabela murmured, drawing her daggers with slick movements.

"Turning into abominations does seem to be detrimental to intelligence," Clarissa smirked, "not that he had much to begin with."

"That's Madred?" Isabela laughed softly. "He actually looks better than before."

It baffled Clarissa briefly how they were able to laugh to their hearts' content while a giant, grotesque demon twisted round in search of them. She felt the air ripple slightly as Seryna joined them, glaring at the abomination with no less measure of hatred.

"My sister is trapped within," she hissed, dark globules of magic assembling in her clenched hands.

"Then let us not waste any more time." Clarissa said, flourishing her sword, its tip whistling through the air.

_Bethany?_

_Yes, my love?_

The sound of her voice echoing through her mind gave her no small amount of reassurance.

_Stay back and channel your magic through me. Keep watch on the others as well._

"Isabela."

"Present."

"Would you be so kind as to employ your wily, wily ways and take advantage of some of the demon's more… sensitive parts?"

Isabela, for her dashing, crafty part, laughed and vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Seryna."

"No matter your words, Clarissa, I will fight by your side. I tire of cowering behind humans." Seryna said pointedly, flexing her hands. The violet flames at her forehead blazed with renewed intensity. "Madred will not hold my sister for a moment longer."

"On that, we can agree."

Clarissa squeezed Bethany's hand, feeling her respond in kind.

_Is it time to fight, my love?_

Clarissa smiled, feeling Bethany's magic, familiar and cool, wash over her senses.

_It is._

The demon roared as Clarissa charged, speed imbued into her every movement as Bethany corralled time itself to their aid, accelerating Clarissa's reflexes to inhuman alacrity.

A shadow came over Clarissa as Madred raised a gigantic fist, wanting to pound her into the ground.

Clarissa rolled sideways as the ground shook with the force of impact, scattered fragments of stone grazing her armor. The demon, unaware of her whereabouts, ground its fist into the stone.

Clarissa leapt up, twisted in the air, and fell upon the demon's scaled hand, plunging her blade to the hilt.

The demon roared with pain and lifted its hand, taking Clarissa with it. Its crimson, wild eyes focused on Clarissa as she twisted the blade in its place, showering herself in hot, gushing blood.

The demon's other hand came in horizontally, seeking to knock Clarissa off the ledge she was on.

A blast of dark magic hit the demon square in the eyes, making its hands flail and the swipe to miss its mark. Clarissa pulled her blade from the demon's hand and stabbed it into its arm, using the golden sword as a handhold embedded securely within the demon's own flesh as she heard Seryna laugh, thwarting attack after attack.

Clarissa felt herself being pulled upwards as the demon raised its arm, bringing her in front of its face. It snarled at her with serrated fangs, crimson eyes glaring with hate. Clarissa held on tight to her blade as she was jostled on the demon's arm, unable to move. She saw its mouth open, a maw of cavernous black lined with yellow fangs descending upon her.

A sudden _snick _of silver-lined daggers plunging into flesh saved her, as the demon's head reared and roared in pain.

A feminine figure appeared close to Clarissa, using silver-lined daggers as two handholds, climbing sideways on the demon's jutting neck. Clarissa thought she saw the Pirate Queen wink at her before her muscles tensed and pulled her upwards into the air.

The world slowed as Isabela hovered in front of the demon's snarling face, twisting herself round in mid-air and bringing her daggers across the deformed flesh like a hot knife through butter.

Twin diagonal gashes appeared on the demon's face, cutting deep into its flesh as Isabela disappeared as quickly as she had appeared. The demon roared to the moon, baring its chest.

Clarissa, seeing her opportunity to end this once and for all, wasted no time in extricating her blade from the demon's arm and leaping down, impaling her sword securely in the center of the demon's chest.

The demon staggered shock evident in its demeanour. A tremor ran through it as Clarissa pushed the blade inward with a final grunt, the tip of the blade punching clean through the demon's body. Its red eyes flickered and looked downward at its heaving chest, every breath becoming a taxing exertion.

Clarissa, for her part, returned the demon's weakening glare with a glare of her own, baring her teeth in a savage display of victory.

The demon growled, its arms going slack. The air around it shifted slightly as the end drew near.

But it was not done. Not quite.

_Brace yourself!_ Clarissa heard Bethany exclaim, as the two of them felt a surge of desperate, last-ditch magic from the dying creature.

Blood fountained from the demon's impaled chest with the force of a mountain slamming into Clarissa, casting her effortlessly into the air and onto the ground, pushing the air out of her lungs and making her head swim in stars. She watched, dazed, as the demon known as Madred shuffled forward, summoning the last of its magical might into a nimbus of green flame that coalesced in its gaping maw.

She felt Bethany's magic cast a shield around her, the air immediately surrounding her enveloping her in a protective sphere. Yet, as the globule of magical fire gathered strength in the creature's mouth, she doubted it would be enough. She felt strong arms drag her backwards but she shrugged them off, dimly aware of herself telling it to run.

She was aware of herself standing up, her reeling head making balance a monumental task. She raised her left hand, her bracer shielding her face. She saw the seal etched in the glistening steel and a part of her told herself that they could get through this, that she had survived for too long to die now. She wanted to believe in that part of her. She almost did.

But then, the fireball was released, heading straight for her, and her heart sank.

Someone came between the raging fireball and Clarissa, blocking off her vision of the incoming attack by entrancing her with her seductive gait, her noble poise and a blinding, enveloping cyclone of light.

Clarissa saw her glance backward as she spread her arms, the very air heeding her call and lifting her petite frame upwards as violet eyes, dark and intense, changed before Clarissa's own eyes.

There was a split second when time stood still, when two wavering, magnificent rays of light burst from Seryna, sprouting from her back as an angel would when spreading her wings. Clarissa squinted, trying to make out Seryna's features. She blinked, and saw eyes of pure white, gazing into her own with gratitude and a silent reassurance that was nigh on overwhelming. She thought she saw her smile.

_Finish it. For me. _Clarissa heard a voice echo in her mind. It was not Bethany.

Then a halo of demonic green clashed with angelic white, smiting Seryna dead center.

There came a split second when the world shone bright white.

The demon chuckled drily as the smoke cleared, seeing nothing left of the woman it set out to kill, and the treacherous demoness that had tried to shield her. It fell onto its knees, utterly exhausted.

A woman materialized in front of it, a gauntlet of azure fire on her left hand, a blinding, scorching crucifix on her right.

An unstoppable force wrenched its head downwards, forcing it to kneel before the woman. It panted, disbelieving.

_"How?" _It managed, powerless to resist.

The woman chuckled, violet-blue eyes staring straight through the demon to the fragile, broken man entrapped inside.

"That is for me to know, and you to find out in the next life."

Clarissa jumped. High. Her blade encountered no resistance as it sank into the demon's skull, the momentum of her blow bringing it hard against the ground.

She heard Madred sigh before the maroon eyes winked out unceremoniously. She unsheathed her sword with a wet squelch, the dazzling fire casting a fine red mist as the blood on the blade evaporated.

She heard Bethany approach her and she turned round just in time to catch Bethany catapulting herself into her.

"Don't you ever push me away again." Bethany murmured into her shoulder. She felt Isabela snicker and beckon to Katja, who approached them with a slight limp.

"That demon… it…" Katja started, at a loss for words.

A pained groan, eerily echoing within itself, reached their ears. Clarissa whirled round and saw a woman lying on the ground, utterly spent. The twisted horns that represented her kind were all but gone, and she wore only a purple blouse to retain her vanity. Her glowing eyes flickered dangerously and Clarissa rushed to her side.

"Why?" Clarissa asked tentatively as she snaked her arm round Seryna in an effort to keep her awake.

"Why not?" Seryna answered simply, every syllable taking a bit more breath out of her. "I am forever in your debt, Clarissa. My life," she heaved and shuddered, "is all that I can repay you with."

"I don't deserve this." Clarissa said, feeling a peculiar sense of attachment to the demon she cradled in her arms. She studied Seryna, from the glorious white shining in her eyes to the fading aura of light that surrounded her. Was she still that, or had she become something else entirely?

"Yes, you do." Seryna said. "I've been wandering for millennia, Clarissa, forsaken by the Maker and feeding on men and women falling prey to my ways. For a creature dictated by desire, I didn't even know what the word truly meant."

A hand reached upwards, cupping Clarissa's cheek with an icy chill. Clarissa tried hard to keep tears from falling.

"But then I met Aloysius Madred and through him, you." Seryna said, "I was a slave to his promises and lies for decades, bringing an uncountable amount of my kin to force fealty from his Grey Wardens. He promised me that he would show me what it meant to _love_, to show that affection which I have never known to another, and have it grace me."

"Our paths crossed then, and I saw something within you that night, even as I almost succeeded in seducing you, just as my sister saw something in yours." Seryna said, somehow finding strength to relay her final words.

"I found the one thing that I had been searching for all my life, and it was right there, between two mortal souls pledged to each other."

"And then, you showed me what it was like to _feel _it, to experience love through you. You were the one who never gave up, Clarissa, who defied desire in its truest form and held fast to those who you loved." Seryna said, rolling the last word around on her tongue.

"You brought me home."

Clarissa couldn't stop it now. Rivulets of moisture ran down her face, running free and clear in tandem with her emotions.

"You gave me my life back. Why shouldn't I give you mine in return?"

Clarissa had no answer for that.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Bethany asked. Her tone seemed guarded.

Seryna smiled. "You've done enough. I am alive once more, because of you," she turned to address every single person gathered around her, "all of you."

Clarissa looked into Seryna's eyes as they widened, the light brightening once more and becoming fixed upon something distant, gazing into the waning stars. The sun was rising.

"Oh, how I have missed You, my Maker." Seryna whispered. To Clarissa, she expended her last efforts and leaned forward, pressing a gentle, thankful kiss onto her cheek.

"I love you. And thank you." Seryna whispered, just before her eyes closed and the light pervading her died out. The world suddenly seemed darker to Clarissa.

The open door leading to the barracks flung even wider as a short, stout figure emerged from the half-light. He held, in the cradle of his arms, a strange weapon that was nearly his height.

"Aha! This'll-"

His jaw dropped at the scene that greeted him.

"What the hell did I miss?" Varric asked.

/Turns out, I _have _the time. Yay for longest chapter ever?

The fight scene between the sisters was one of the most fun scenes I've written, although the hopelessly addicted part of me hates myself for putting them in that situation. A certain nocturnal grey matter would know.

I think I'll be returning to Act 2 after this. With my own embellishments, of course. The AU-ness shall stand strong.

Ml33t (or something like that) : I just took it to 8,000 words. *Nodding*

Spike: Tell me what you think! 50 words minimum?

Night: ARGGH! RANT! It took me a whole week! Eh, I have nothing more to rant about until you review meh.

And to all those out there: Thank you for sticking this long (or welcome to the party). /


	23. Requital

"A great deal of fun. That's what you missed digging in that vault of yours, Tethras." Isabela chided, untying the bandana she had wrapped securely around her hair and unraveling the folded cloth until it resembled a makeshift handkerchief. To a half-hearted audience drawn to her by her actions, she unsheathed one of her curved daggers, slick with blood, and started wiping the silvery metal clean. Varric's eyebrows arched with mock disgust.

"I can see that." He said, pointing vaguely at the demon's corpse to his right, "but I also see a rather... peculiar aftermath."

He hefted his colossal weapon on one shoulder, shuffling over to Isabela, who gave him a look.

"I don't seem to recall stinking demonic ichor being an ingredient in those hair smoothing lotions the Hightown ladies claimed to be working," Varric chuckled, "but maybe it's a Rivaini thing."

Isabela shot him a glare that froze water. "I _could_ make do with your chest hair," she threatened nonchalantly, reaching for her other dagger. Clarissa smirked when Varric backpedalled, free hand clutching at his open-necked collar.

"Varric, where did you get _that_?" Clarissa asked, walking up to him and gesturing at the giant hulk of a crossbow balanced between his arm and shoulder, or at least the contraption that _looked _like a crossbow to her. It had the general shape of a mechanical contraption that hurled bolts out the front, basically a shortbow with a metallic stock, grip and handle attached to it, with various switches and levers whose function, apparently unwanted in conventional crossbows, eluded her. She preferred her fights up close, personal and ending with a sword through the other person's gut. She never had patience for bows, much less the calm, calculating precision required to handle a crossbow and its painstakingly long and repetitive actions between bolts. It just felt so... unwieldy, unlike a sword or a shield which was, to her, an extension of her very arm. She did, however, had difficulty picturing Varric charging headfirst into trouble, pounding bandits and disgruntled merchants alike into submission with a hammer, club, or any other weapon of the sort. The image she conjured out of sheer imagination of the stout dwarf doing just that was so amusing, she had to purse her lips to keep from bursting into laughter.

"This," Varric crowed, cradling the oversized weapon as a mother would a child, "I found under a pile of plundered dwarven treasure hidden in a side room in the armory. It took me an hour to find the room, and another hour to sort through the useless junk to get to it."

She then listened, with courteous attentiveness, as Varric recounted every switch, marking and thoroughly awe-inspiring example of unmatched engineering, half of which making no sense to her after turning her head on itself. The craftsmanship of it was beyond doubt, however, as details both utilitarian and aesthetic were readily apparent, even to Clarissa's untrained eye. Still, it did not detract from the fact that Varric's meticulous descriptions had left her doubting his sanity and her own.

Varric must have noticed her confusion, for he said, "But, I understand that you, my lady, are practical in her tastes. So, without further ado, I shall demonstrate, to your very eyes, what this baby can do."

A cacophony of mechanical sounds was heard as Varric pulled back a side handle on the weapon, who smiled when he heard something within click into place. He then brought the weapon up to eye-level, and searched for a fitting target with a self-absorption and intensity seemed to make his . Clarissa watched him closely. Ever since the loss of his beloved crossbow, Bianca, Varric has retreated much of himself. For the past two days, the normally cheerful, talkative dwarf had fallen silent, and although Clarissa still heard him humming and chanting verses under his breath, she felt no longer the merry, contented music that suffused the air, only a lonely, poor lament that reminded her too much of her last days in Lothering.

_No one should have to go through that. _Clarissa thought as Varric lined up the brass sights on his new toy, taking aim at the highest point of the tallest statue in the courtyard. She felt partly responsible for his loss, and the feeling lingered deeply within her as the image of Carver, young, brash and headstrong, swam up in her mind.

A slight warmth bloomed within Clarissa's heart, then, as Varric smiled, holding that which he held dear to his heart with the professional bearing of a marksman dedicated to his skills, and the delicate, loving care of an ordinary man blessed with an extraordinary love.

Clarissa heard a distinct, mechanical _click_ as Varric pulled the trigger.

There came a tense moment of silence.

And another.

Then Varric grunted, turning the crossbow sideways and looking over the entirety of the weapon with a practiced but anxious eye.

"It was supposed to- A big heap of- Ahh damn the ancestors, it isn't working!" Varric grumbled animatedly, his free hand flicking switches, pulling levers and checking for malfunctions in the delicate machinery in every way he knew. Clarissa raised an eyebrow, not sure if she should show amusement at his fumbling or share in his concern.

"Perhaps it's been sitting under that treasure pile for too long?" Clarissa ventured.

"No! I mean, yes, but- It shouldn't-" Varric took a calming breath, his short, wide frame heaving as he did so. His face became flushed, and a panicked look came into his eyes. Clarissa recognized that look. It was something she saw within herself all too many times.

"I'm sure she's fine, Varric. Bianca just needs a little bit of tweaking."

Varric looked at her, his gaze unyielding and firm. "She's not Bianca."

He hammered those words into her until she averted her eyes.

"Bianca was made by someone else, then left to rot. I was the one who brought her back, and gave her a purpose." Varric said, his tone betraying no emotion.

"This... this will never be the same as Bianca. She's gone now, and... so should it be for the part of me that still hangs onto her." Varric said, eyes distant now. Clarissa stood next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, offering him her silent condolences for the part she played in Bianca's death. She knew, in his heart and her own, that she was partly to blame, and that losing Bianca was like losing something close to home for Varric, who had strove to hold on to what little part of home he still possessed.

"I can make this work," Varric said with conviction, like a man driven by his determination and nothing else, "I can bring her back to life. Just you wait and see."

She watched as he nodded to himself, a purposeful fire burning in his eyes once again. She squeezed his shoulder, making him smile before he shrugged.

"Okay, this is getting a bit too emotional for me. I thought I saw some other treasure back there, recovered from thaigs as old as Orzammar. Who knows," he stole a look at Clarissa, who was, for some reason, frowning, "it might even be my thaig..."

Clarissa, for her part, only barely registered Varric's departure. She heard another voice call for her attention, an intimate voice in her mind that she recognized all too well.

It was its tone that fazed her.

_We need to talk. _Bethany had said while Varric had smiled up at her, her normally mellow, soft voice as cold as ice and as hard as rugged steel.

_Can it wait? Varric's- _Clarissa had started.

_Now. _Bethany had insisted.

Clarissa, confused by her sudden coldness, complied. She found her at the edge of the courtyard, brown eyes fixed upon her with an emotion she did not recognize.

"What's the problem, Bethy?" Clarissa asked tentatively. Upon close inspection, she saw that Bethany was far from relaxed. Her eyes were wide, pointed and possessed an accusatory glare that seemed to be fixated on her. Her fists were clenched, her slender body tense and her mind,linked to her own and in such close proximity, radiated an anger Clarissa rarely saw within her.

"What's the problem, you ask?" Bethany glared at her, making her step backwards in surprise, "you're the problem! How long do you plan on coddling me as you would a child?"

The words stirred incredulity and doubt within her. Had she done such a thing? "What are you talking about, Bethy? I came here because I loved you too much to have you locked up with these charlatans, not because I still think you're my baby sister."

She dared a step forward, cradling Bethany's face with her hand. "You've become more than that."

Bethany wrenched her hand away with a frustrated cry, "don't touch me!" She cried, making Clarissa flinch from the words, "stop dancing around the truth. You know of what I speak." Her right palm flared in tandem with her temper, anger given physical form as Mana surged within her, coalescing into a globule of pure, shifting darkness that winked out of existence a split second after Clarissa laid eyes upon it.

"I... I don't understand." Clarissa stuttered, her mind torn between disbelief and recognition. Whatever it was, she had seen it before.

"Still, you lie? Like you did to the Wardens when you gave me to them? Like you did to me when I foolishly believed you?" Bethany cried, her eyes glaring straight into Clarissa, tearing through the shock and denial and striking directly at her core.

_I didn't lie!_

_ Did you not? Did you not neglect to share a particular piece of information when you claimed Corinth dead? _A voice in her mind that wasn't Bethany jeered

_It was for her own good! I was going to tell her later!_

Bethany's hands brought her back from her internal deliberations, holding her at her shoulders and shaking in fury.

"I thought you loved me, Clare. I thought I was no longer your baby sister, no longer the child you needed to protect. I thought you'd share everything with me, for good or ill, so we could bask in them together or face them as one." Bethany said, tears rolling down her flawless skin, liquid jewels telling of her anguish rekindling the fiery guilt that Clarissa had once thought she left behind.

"I thought we were one." Bethany implored.

_We are!_

_ You thought you were protecting her, didn't you?_

_ I- Was I not?_

"I defied the Maker to be with you. I spurned divine and law to love you. Is it too much to ask the same from you?" Bethany asked, grasping for answers. Clarissa had none. She was wrong. So, so wrong. She felt tears tracing lines on her face. She made no attempt to halt them.

Bethany released her then, for she knew she would not getting answers from her. She wiped at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, and Clarissa felt her heart fracture. Who was she to hurt her so deeply?

It was then that someone had to intrude upon them.

"Um, is this not a good time?" A male voice, one Clarissa couldn't be bothered remembering. She let herself wallow in her guilt, examining her choices and finding nothing but mistakes in them.

_You're damn right it isn't._

"No, no, it's alright, Delvin. What is it?" She heard Bethany ask, inhaling deeply to mask the pain they both felt, only that hers was justified, and Bethany's was her doing. Her knees threatened to give way, but she remained upright, her back turned towards the Grey Wardens.

_What have I done?_

"The dwarf wanted me to tell Messere Hawke that he had apparently found 'stolen property' that belongs to him, taken by the Warden Commander." He seemed to catch upon himself at that, "ex-Warden Commander, that is."

"There's also the matter of the Commander's position." Delvin said.

"What of it?" Bethany asked as Clarissa turned round, not liking where this was going. It was not as if she had any say in the matter.

"Well, to be frank, we've all been under Madred's spell for nigh on five years. Your sister freed us from that and if it weren't for your Joining, tragic as it may be, we might be ensorcelled by that bastard of a man for Maker knows how long, and not any one of us would be the wiser." Delvin poured out, venting his anger against his former superior.

"But, we know that your place is not with us and, as much as the Joining says otherwise, our numbers allow for certain... exceptions to be made." Delvin explained, looking at Bethany tensely, watching for her reaction. "We'll understand if you do not wish to remain."

"No." Bethany said.

Clarissa froze.

"I'll stay."

Clarissa whirled round, meeting Bethany's eyes and reeling from the regretful, but determinate look in them. She grabbed her, shook her, crushed her with her desperate embrace, but Bethany did nothing in response.

_ Bethany, please... Don't leave!_

_ Or what? Will you hold me at your blade's edge? Will you decide what's best for me?_

"Isabela." Bethany called. The Pirate Queen understood immediately what she wanted, and she put an arm around Clarissa, heartbroken and defeated, and slowly led her away.

Varric was at the gates, waiting for them with an a pack of horses, one of them leavened with saddlebags that jiggled suspiciously, but Clarissa didn't care. She cast a final glance at Bethany, but she was no longer there. Gone was the young girl who stood at the door, waiting for her return every day. Gone was the little girl who cried in her arms, yearning for her older sister's comforting. In her place was a proud, strong young woman that Clarissa, of all the people, had come to love with all her heart and cherish with all her soul.

Had she done something wrong? All she ever wanted was to keep her safe, even if it meant she should bear the guilt of her actions and the stain of the blood of thousands.

"There's nothing you can do, Hawke. Give it time, you'll see her again." Isabela said, trying and failing to stem the tears flooding her friend's face, rolling onto her armor. There was a short, tense moment of silence as Katja climbed on.

She couldn't turn back. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't even say farewell.

_We were sisters. It made us close. Now, it kept us apart._

Clarissa let the subtle, steady rhythm of her horse's movements numb her as Falconsreach Hold became but a distant memory.

/It just so happened that I was leafing through the reviews (bad habit) when I saw one review saying that this pairing is "so damn tragic". That got me thinking, and this is why I think it's tragic. Up to this point in the story at least. I do hope that it makes sense to you as much as it did to me, cus I need to apologize if this feels... rushed in places (although it took me three weeks to ditch the headache and start writing for realzies). It's sad, but it's integral. You'll see. *ANXIETY* Now I can't screw this up.

Spike: Life's a learning process, and Clarissa just entered a whole new one.

Ml33t/ninja/Ml33tninja: I do seem to have god mode on, don't I? Well, maybe less do-or-die scenes and more large-scale battles like the ones in Act 2! That was so not a clue.

Night: I'm ready this time. I bought earplugs. *Grits teeth*

And for those of you out there: Please take about 1 minute of your time and feed your author! Even if you don't like him very much, grovelling for reviews and whatnot, he still appreciates people letting him know they actually gave his stuff a passing glance or better yet, that they liked it!/


	24. Vacancy

Clarissa nicked her right index fingertip with her dagger, the keen edge drawing across and into the worn skin with ease. A dull, insignificant pinprick of pain reached her senses as her nerves reacted to the wound.

_Not enough._

She moved the dagger away from her hand, now sporting a tiny spot of blood on the edge, and moved it upwards onto her lower arm, no longer protected by her bracer, which laid on the grass beside her with its back face-down on the ground, unwanted and forgotten.

She pulled back the leather under armour, revealing bruised, battered skin lighter than her other, more exposed parts of her body, which did nothing to conceal the motley collection of battle wounds received through self-defense, and through the defense of others. Her mind drifted ever so slightly at the thought, images and vivid moments flashing past.

She gritted her teeth and pushed them away.

_Remember what you're here for._

Her mind forcibly blank once more, she let the dagger alight upon her skin, then pushed slightly down, piercing the frail flesh with an effort she barely acknowledged. This time, prickles and stings followed the five-inch line linking her scars together, coalescing into an agonizing throb that renewed itself as blood pulsed through her system and into her new wounds. She winced slightly at it.

_Not nearly enough._

She grimaced at herself, flinging the dagger into the ground tip-first with a strength born of frustration, making the first three inches of steel bury itself in the dirt.

"What pain can match this?" She asked no one in particular, letting her voice fade out into the dark of night, away from the warmth of the campfire.

_Perhaps a little closer... _She thought, nodding slowly when she let her heart convince her head, allowing it control over her actions.

_ Closer to where it hurts most._

She yanked her dagger free, holding it backhanded now. She traced a line from where she had come – up the palm of her hand where she once held her by, past her wrist where she once made her promise, up her arm where her touch once danced upon her, across her shoulder where her arms once encircled her, drawing to a halt on the spot where she once rested her head, and her heart, upon.

_Surely I can feel this._

The tip caused a slight tingling where it touched Clarissa's skin through the chainmail undershirt she wore. She felt a smile touch her lips, of all things.

_You're thinking upside down, Clarissa. _Her mind, pleading reason, halted her actions for half a second.

_My whole world is upside down. _She retorted. She didn't need this thrice-blasted argument clouding her judgment. She knew full well what she was doing, what she wanted.

All she wanted was a reprieve from the agony, a rest from the pain that followed her wherever she went, enveloped her in its inescapable torment and strangled her with its tightening noose.

She begged for death but it, in its mercy or cruelty, denied her her escape. She took matters into her own hands, hoping against what little hope remaining within her that flowing blood could ebb the tides washing over her but, as with all the things she wished for, it was for naught.

She still felt her presence, distant, enclosed and withdrawn. She wanted her back, and she would do anything it took to do just that.

_Surely _she _can feel this._

She let the blade descend.

An arrowhead, forged in silverite, tinted with firelight and blurred by blinding speed, struck Clarissa's dagger, overpowering her halting stroke and knocking the weapon from her hand. Clarissa gasped softly in surprise, and no sooner had she reached for her dagger than she felt a shadow, long and lean, take from her the light from the fire. She paid it no mind. It did little to repel the chill that nestled in her before, and it certainly made little difference now that it was gone. She forced a passive expression onto her face as Katja stood over her for the briefest of moments, then sat down beside her.

"What are you doing?" Katja asked, her soft, hushed voice revealing she knew full well what she saw. Whatever her words were, Clarissa felt genuine concern in them, something she did not expect to find.

"Something that didn't and shouldn't have involved you," she said, her tone flat, lifeless and lacking in the vibrancy it once possessed so abundantly. She twirled the dagger in her hands and, the second the tip pointed at her chest, she felt it snatched away from her loose grip. She glared at the elven woman sitting beside her only to have her glare back, her seated form having shown nothing that hinted towards movement of any sort.

"Give it back." She demanded.

"No."

"Give it back! I'll not be treated as a misbehaving child!" Clarissa spat, leaning into Katja to reach for her dagger, who then casually threw it at a nearby tree, the deceptively strong force behind the throw slamming half of the blade into the weathered wood.

With a loud curse, Clarissa stood and stormed over to the tree, pulling the dagger out of its sheath with an anger that fell leaves and urged blood to flow from the wound on her arm.

_It's nothing. Nothing a small spell won't cure._

It was what she would've said, had she been here. She would've waved her hand lightly over the blood, give of herself for her mistakes and mishaps both in and out of battle, and smile shyly when she caught her looking at her while the spell knitted flesh and mended skin.

_But she's not. She's not here._

Anger fizzled as heartbreak and sorrow filled her once more, drawing tears from her eyes that she hadn't thought she was still capable of shedding for all that she wept for for nigh on two days. She felt hands pull her down and arms wrap around her shoulders as she sobbed drily, heaving uncontrollably. The pain wouldn't relent, however. It knew that, for all the warmth and comfort Katja could provide, she wasn't who its host desired.

She felt eyes running over her arm, taking in the morbid amount of blood that gathered without ebb or pause.

"What have you done to yourself?" Katja whispered, reaching into her pouch and producing a length of cloth bandages. She removed her hand around Clarissa to aid in bandaging the wound, replacing it with the side of her head touching Clarissa's in a gesture of care and intimacy that warmed Clarissa despite her bleak state. The pointy end of her left ear tickled her.

She relished in the feeling of Katja's lithe fingers dancing on her skin, but deep within herself, she knew it wasn't enough. It wasn't her. The bandage was wound tight to prevent infection and it throbbed with the pressure applied on the cut, but Clarissa refrained from mentioning it to the elven woman. She hoped the constant pain would take her mind off of the agony that threatened, day and night, to tear her in half.

"Thank you." Clarissa muttered with unmistakable gratitude in an otherwise low voice.

"What would harming yourself accomplish, Clarissa? Would killing yourself bring Bethany back?" Katja asked, not unkindly. She spoke softly, carefully, as if to prevent from provoking Clarissa again and to encourage her to be forthcoming with herself, to coax answers out of her.

"I... I don't know." Clarissa managed, searching within herself for the answer. What _had _she been doing? Would a knife to her heart truly have brought Bethany back to her side before she perished because of her foolish wants?

"She was always by my side," Clarissa began, speaking out loud without heed of whoever might hear, "ever since Mother told me she was expecting her and Carver, I've cared for her, watched out for her and worried about her, even with me being so young and Bethany still in her womb."

"Bethany was an apostate at birth, and although she may not have admitted it, she had always treated herself as such. She thought of her gift as a curse, a cause for her be hunted by the Templars and feared by commoners should they learn of her identity. In a way, she was right, but she has always imposed so much upon herself." She said, squeezing her eyes shut as the memories flooded back.

"I was the only normal thing she had. Carver treated her different because of her mage blood, even though the same blood ran in his veins and his cause for it was mere sibling rivalry most of the time. But deep in my heart and his, I knew that he blamed her for us never possessing a normal life, and I know that Bethany blamed herself for it as well."

She felt an arm snake around her shoulders as Katja listened. She kept going.

"She was such a beautiful girl, so pure and guileless. I trusted her implicitly because I simply could not believe her to be even capable of becoming those magi I dreaded in stories. I protected her, holding her closer and tighter than anyone ever did, perhaps even more than Father." Katja could hear how high Clarissa thought of her through words alone. Every word was true and every confession so close to her heart she dared not speak of them in length for fear of breaking the fragile vessel.

_A vessel of tears, that's what it is._

"I swore to protect her with my life, and that we, as sisters, would be together for as long as the Maker was willing. I burned that oath onto my bracer, to remind us both that I would never leave her, never forsake her and that I would never, ever hurt her." Clarissa stopped, an all-too-familiar emotion gripping her.

Disappointment. At herself.

"I failed as much times as I succeeded."

Katja tightened her hold around her, as if afraid she might fall into contemplation once more.

"The last few years were... confusing. I loved my baby sister, who was coming of age and maturing faster than I could have imagined. Because of my vigil, I distanced myself from men, romance and all the things a young girl would've lusted after until those desires were beneath me." Clarissa said, pausing for the briefest of moments. Katja thought she heard her chuckle under her breath.

"I was wrong. Spectacularly wrong."

"What I saw within my sister was what any average person would've seen: A young, nubile woman who knew fun when it could be had, understood what her role was and what she wanted in life. She was wise beyond her age, adamant against adversity and compassionate before those who deserved it. I could find no flaw, and before I knew it, my view of her changed."

"I loved her less and less as an elder caring for her young and more and more as a woman finding what she longed for in another person. I gave up most of my life for her. She was the closest thing I had to a soul mate for almost a quarter of my entire life, assuming if I lived that long. I understood her better than anyone else; She understood me more than my parents did me. I fell for her slowly and uncertainly, battling my sense of duty and decency at every turn, but it was a battle I was doomed to win."

"For nineteen years, I did what I thought to be best for her. I shielded her from the harms and wrongs of the world; I lied for her against countless men and women knocking on our door; I lied to her about countless more, if only to keep her safe. I thought it would be best that way. I was wrong."

"You can't shoulder the world as your burden, Clarissa, let alone two." Katja said consolingly. It was the first time she talked throughout Clarissa's recounting, and she'd hoped she'd spoke wisely.

"You don't understand." Clarissa said, her voice breaking.

"I was never a devout Andrastian, unlike Carver and Bethany. It's one of the reasons why I was able to think next to nothing about the scripts of the Maker's word siding against my... less than appropriate thoughts."

"Bethany sinned against the Maker for me. She was my piece of heaven. I didn't want to let her go, so I did what I knew in my heart to be right to keep her at my side. She was my center, the sole reason for my existence. She was the only thing that kept me sane."

Clarissa shrugged off Katja's arm. She let darkness wash over her and coldness invade her. She didn't care anymore.

"Now she's gone because of me." She said on her lips.

_My love, my love! Why have you forsaken me? _She cried with her thoughts.

There was no answer, save for the soft crunch of grass shifting and a strong arm pulling her close. This time, she was powerless to resist.

/Virtual cookies for figuring out where the last thought was from.

Spike: You _could _call it spite. But you could also call it something far worse.

Ml33t: I have some ideas regarding the upcoming chapters. Don't worry, it's related to happy, squishy reunions. Totally.

I hope this chapter hasn't been too... angsty, to say the least. Next chapter will be less disturbing. No promises.

.../


	25. A Heart to Heart

A lone woman wandered the deserted streets of the Hightown market district, the only source of sight and sound in the dead of night. The highborn lords and ladies who resided within mansions built with polished granite bricks heard not the drunken whisperings the woman muttered under her ale-stained breath, as the words she spoke were reserved for herself.

They heard not the pleading whispers, taking flight upon the night wind and drifting far to the north, where she prayed they would not fall to deaf ears;

They saw not the tattered steel armor she wore, worn with travel and stained with dried blood from the scars she bore underneath, both on her skin and on her heart;

They felt not the debilitating agony that permeated the very fiber of her being, suffusing her every sense and thriving upon the very rhythm that kept her alive, renewing itself with every beat of her heart.

They knew not why she had come, as well. Safe behind walls of stone and oblivious in the realm of dreams, they couldn't have known that Clarissa Hawke, last scion of the Hawke family and heir-in-waiting of the Amell name, had intended to pay a visit to the deserted estate. After dozens of rounds at the Hanged Man, each more potent than the last, the thought had occurred to the young warrior in the form of a fleeting fancy. It was then strengthened by the staggering amount of alcohol muddling her vision and clouding her better judgment. It was the dead of night, when unsavory characters usually prowled the streets of Kirkwall, in search of easy prey in the form of drunken women barely seeing straight. But a part of her, a split image of herself, clear and sober, ached to see the magnificent building with her own eyes after all this time. She needed to know that it was still there, flying the colours of her family.

She needed a home to go back to.

She had climbed flight after flight of stairs, dimly aware of the smell of accumulated sweat, grime and bitter alcohol part from her as cobbled streets and high stone arches filled her failing vision. She walked on and on, the moonlight her only guide as she looked upward, crying out with silent eyes and silent thoughts to the silvery crescent, hoping against hope that she would hear her, and come back to her once more. She had realized her mistakes. Was that not what she had wanted with this torture?

_Cruel, you are... Cruel and cold. _She exclaimed, the roiling emotions spurring her on. She did not recall the walk from the market to the estate to be this long, nor did she remember it to be surrounded by dozens of other tall buildings, but she had not the capacity to dwell on the notion.

Her body betrayed her then, as her legs gave way and she fell to the ground with the loud report of steel clashing against stone. Her head lolled limply as the impact jolted her fragile senses, amplifying the myriad sensations coursing through her from the liquor in her system. Numbing cold and burning heat assaulted her, blanketing her and smothering her and paralyzing her.

_Get up! _She berated herself, _you've been through worse!_

But her limbs refused to obey, leaving her sagged against the rough stone wall with neither the strength or the will to rouse herself. Her mind blanked for the briefest of moments, and she found herself wondering at her surroundings, at why she had come.

_Home... _She thought feebly, images of the Amell estate, grand and eminent in the bright Kirkwall sun, flashing past her eyes with surreal clarity. _I'm looking for home..._

She remembered something else, then, as she felt strange pinpricks alight upon her shoulders. The thought had broken through the haze of her alcohol-addled mind and formed words that filled her with despair, ringing all the more true because of it.

_Home is where the heart is..._

Clarissa Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the moisture that clawed their way out of her eyelids as the first of the raindrops landed on her armor.

_Then I have no home._

And there she sat, paying no heed to the passage of time and the relentless taunting of the stormclouds above. And there she wept, no longer able to summon the strength to hold her tears back, letting them mix with the raindrops on her cheeks. A deathly chill crept into her limbs, and she welcomed it; A crippling inferno raged through her mind, and she had no strength to resist. And there she remained, until even the moon forsook her and left her in shadow, cold, broken and shivering uncontrollably.

Then, she felt something else... Something tugging at her, lifting her upright with ease, hooking under her arm and half-shouldering, half-carrying her out of the rain and into a dry, sheltered but largely unfurnished room. She stole a glance at her good samaritan, her befuddled senses registering the lanky but wiry arm that belied its strength, but failing to associate with the flowing, intricate lines etched upon it.

"Thank you..." Clarissa murmured, sinking into the chair he set her down in.

"I'd heard you were back in Kirkwall, Hawke, but I didn't expect... this." A deep, gruff voice said, sounding as if emptied of emotion. Clarissa thought she saw a halo of white encircle her rescuer's head and, for a brief moment, she thought he was an angel. She chuckled under her breath when her eyes finally cleared and she saw the lyrium, dormant but intimidating, tattooed on his skin.

"Fenris."

She felt his cold eyes search her, running along her skin, as a wolf would when cornering its prey. Then she felt a mug being pressed into her unsteady hands, radiating a palpable heat that warmed her through her thick leather gloves, sending warmth running through her system. She felt her shivering abate.

"Drink," Fenris said, not unkindly, "it'll take the liquor off your mind."

A part of her wanted to lash out at him, to let the not-unpleasant buzzing in her head to continue shielding her from the feelings she did not want to contemplate, but she did as she was told. The bitter liquid scalded the insides of her mouth as she drank, filling her nostrils with the overpowering scent of wild herbs and making her eyes go wide. With every ounce of her restraint, she fought back the urge to retch.

"What is this?" Clarissa asked while sputtering, blinking and heaving hard to clear the bitter taste out of her.

A conspiratorial tug lifted the corners of his lips. "There, you're that much sober already." He said, passive once more as he waited for Clarissa to finish the brew. He spread his hands and smiled openly when she looked at her suspiciously. "Never approach liquor without knowing how to counter it."

Clarissa shook herself mentally as her mind regained its clarity, bringing back thought that she immediately tried to conceal. Ever observant, Fenris read her like a book. She tried to smile back, but the emotion that would accompany the act was nowhere to be found. Instead, she just looked at him while Fenris cleared his throat somewhat theatrically.

"Normally I would be more than happy to shelter a damsel in distress," he said, "but I think you would agree that the time and place for this to be quite... odd."

_Flattery... _Clarissa thought. Was he flirting with her? Did he not know-

_He doesn't._

Nor did he know of what transpired in Falconsreach Hold, and the part of her that she left behind there. She felt old sorrows, seemingly swept under the rug by the liquor she downed, return with a vengeance. She favoured him with a weak smile, but then lowered her head as the memories came rushing back.

Fenris's smile faltered. "I can leave, if you wish to have privacy." He started to get up from his chair, but Clarissa stopped him in his tracks by grabbing his arm. She felt him tense as her fingers closed around his skin, grazing over vivid, blue lines that had buried themselves painfully in his flesh.

"No." Clarissa said quickly and quietly, retracting her hand when she saw what she had touched upon. Although her voice was hushed to a whisper, Fenris recognized the pleading tone in it and a slight reluctance that she had tried to hide.

"Please, stay?" Clarissa asked, retreating within herself once again. "I could use someone to talk to." In truth, she was not sure what she would be capable of should she be left alone again.

Fenris's eyes flared as he contemplated her words. While he may not have shared her leniency for those born with magic in their veins, he respected her for her unwavering dedication to the ones she held dear. He remembered vividly a scene not six months ago when she, along with the talkative dwarf and her mage sister, Bethany, had aided him in his hunt for Danarius. He had been unappreciative of her unconditional assistance, and had directed no small amount of his frustration, from Danarius's escape, onto Bethany.

_"You harbour a viper in your midst. It will turn on you when you least expect."_

He had not been one to hide what he thought, especially if he deemed it to be justified. He had not, however, counted on Clarissa's swift and venomous retort.

_"Bethany has more than proven herself."_

_ "No mage, no matter how pure their intentions are or adamant their resistances may be, can defy that which preys upon them. Then, you shall realize your mistake, and be all the more regretful for it."_

_ "Leave my sister out of this, Fenris." _She had said, a resolute fire burning strong in her eyes, renouncing every word he spoke, _"or you'll discover a few more things you can't phase out of."_

He remembered the young, unassuming mage step closer to her elder sister, mirroring her resolute gaze and throwing a cocksure grin at him.

_"You tell him, sis'."_

He knew, at that moment, that despite the very real dangers they faced, they believed in each other: Clarissa in Bethany for her self-mastery, and Bethany in Clarissa for her unyielding trust. He disagreed with them, but he admired them for the strong relationship they've fostered despite the long odds of them being normal sisters.

He pledged his blade to them, for while he still had a debt to be repaid, he was more attracted to the immaterial bond the sister had between them than anything else. It was a peculiar sensation for him, both wanting and resenting the connection he observed. From what he could remember, his life was nothing but pain, abandonment and a lifelong struggle for survival. He had never had someone else watch out for him, care for him or offer all that he should have experienced as a normal person. Clarissa, being the only one offering him her assistance without asking for anything in return, became someone he wished to know better. The fact that Clarissa's auburn hair, violet eyes and slender but muscular frame appealed to him did nothing to deter his straying thoughts about the dashing swordmaiden. But as he looked upon Clarissa now, back in Kirkwall after a month chasing down the assassins that had almost claimed Bethany's life, he wondered if his affections meant anything to her. She had considered him to be a friend only.

Fenris berated himself. _Right now, a friend would not abandon her when she needed him most._

"Of course, my friend." Fenris answered her, seeing her visibly wind down. He rolled the word around in his mind. _Friend._ Maker knows he wanted it to be more than that.

Then Clarissa spoke and, over the course of her retelling, Fenris felt the slim ray of hope that persisted in him vanish.

She had already fallen.

The revelation hit Fenris like a low blow to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and making him wince as the imaginary wound throbbed. Clarissa had seemingly taken notice of it, but he reckoned she had thought it was compassion on his part.

It wasn't.

Half-heartedly, he heard Clarissa pouring herself out to him, blaming herself for Bethany leaving her but then attempting to justify herself.

"It was what's best at the time." She had said.

That touched a nerve.

Fenris waited until Clarissa finished her confession and, drawing from the sense of loss that embraced him anew and from the frustration of someone else beating him to the punch, he told her the truth.

"You were a fool."

Clarissa's eyes flared and snapped onto his own, meeting ice-cold indifference. He saw that the blush from the alcohol had not yet receded from her cheeks.

"Excuse me?" She said, indignant.

"She was more than enough to choose the path her life takes. You had no right to decide for her, nor did you have the right to conceal from her a matter of such consequence." He stated, transmuting what jealousy and frustration he had into genuine, solid anger until he actually believed in what he was saying and doing, which, at the beginning, was merely a way to vent his pent-up emotions.

Blood flushed to her cheeks and down her neck as she ruffled her feathers at his accusation. But, while her actions may lend her denials credence, deep inside she hammered herself with doubt.

"It was for her own good! I-"

"And you would know that better than she herself did?" Fenris cut her off, voice low and ominous.

Clarissa exclaimed her affirmative and began to argue for her cause, but stopped when she met pulsating blue light that highlighted the furrows on Fenris's face.

"You said to me that for all of nineteen years, you've cherished your sister like no other. You told me that she was the one thing you couldn't live without, and I believed you," Fenris said, a small part of him wishing it had been him he was talking about. "but when you decided to keep the presence of the magister from her, you saw it as an older sister looking out for her sibling."

"I saw what Bethany saw." Fenris said, looking straight into Clarissa's conflicted eyes where guilt warred with pride and, under his unflinching, unrelenting glare, he saw fear flicker across them.

"I saw _betrayal_."

He saw her wince from the word, her retorts and excuses dying in her throat as she trembled uncontrollably, all the time spent convincing and consoling herself laid to waste.

But he was not one to stop, not until his anger was spent and his truths were made clear. To him, the ends justified the means.

"You call her your lover, your equal, the missing half of your heart that made you whole, but you never stopped treating her as you would your _sister_." Fenris spat, every word bitter, scornful and meant to wound.

"What of next time? What then? Would you again take it upon yourself to decide what's best for your baby sister and ignore the consequences you thought you could shoulder on your own? That is not love, Hawke. That isn't even family."

He stopped himself abruptly, debating whether the woman before him, heartbroken, guilt-ridden and beaten, deserved the word he was about to use. Who was he to say such things? Who was he, as a man robbed of his memory, his family and his ability to love, to lecture her? He looked at Clarissa, who returned his softening gaze with watery eyes that threatened to break the last of her restraints down and reduce her to little more than a husk of a person missing half her heart. At that moment, what mercy remained within his lyrium-imbued body made him relent. He'd done what he was supposed to do – to make Clarissa see that she was wrong.

Until he saw her eyes look back at him but not quite, staring into the distance as if the object of her desire stood less than a foot behind him.

_Not me._

He gritted his teeth.

"That's slavery." He said with finality, enunciating every syllable with every ounce of his strength, so she would not, _could _not, doubt what she had heard.

Then, he turned his back on the only friend he'd made in the life he could remember, climbed the short flight of stairs that led to the study and, with a casual glance, saw that the stormclouds, dark and grim, still persisted in pummeling the earth.

The front door opened and slammed shut. He paid it no mind.

/_It's taking you too long to decide_  
_And I don't want to be the one, the one_  
_Crying over wasted time_

_If you think you're strong enough to let me in_  
_Then come on, stand up and be honest, be honest_  
_I'm tired of feeling so alone_  
_Cause you won't let me understand_  
_I don't wanna pretend, I wanna feel, I want to love_

_Say you will or say you won't_  
_Open your heart to me_  
_Now or never, tell the truth_  
_Is this real, is this real?_

_Whenever you're around, I can't fight it_  
_You get under my skin the way that I like it_  
_And I can't take anymore_  
_Tell me what you want from me or leave me alone_  
_'Cause I'm all caught up and I'm losing control_

_I'm tired of holding on so tight_  
_When you won't let me understand_  
_Now I'm falling apart_  
_I never meant to lose myself_

_Say you will or say you won't_  
_Open your heart to me_  
_Now or never, tell the truth_  
_Is this real, is this real_  
_Say you will or say you won't_  
_Open your heart to me_  
_Now or never, tell the truth_  
_Is this real, is this real?_

_Like drops of rain against my heart_  
_Cut through like silver_  
_And I want to make you feel that way_  
_And I want to make you feel the way that I do_

_Say you will or say you won't_  
_Open your heart to me_  
_Now or never, tell the truth_  
_Is this real?_  
_Say you will or say you won't_  
_Open your heart to me_  
_Now or never, tell the truth_  
_Is this real, is this real?  
_

_-  
_Say You Will - Evanescence

Spike: Does this answer your question?

Remember to R&R! Feed and guide your author!/


	26. Connection

The moonlight crept through cracks in the ruined stonework, bathing her in soft, white light. Her eyes traced the jagged, crumbled edges of the hold's thirty-feet high stone wall, running over each and every contour, seeing the missing blocks form a reverse triangle leading to the night beyond, and she envisioned the massive debris scattered around the gap rearranging themselves, floating through the air with effortless grace and precision, until the wall seemed whole again and left no trace of whatever had driven a wedge between it.

But then she blinked, and the blocks came tumbling down once more.

She turned from the wrecked barricade, feeling a faraway, but insistent tug at her heart that she had tried so hard to ignore. Despite her best efforts, a part of her sympathised with the faraway call. It yearned to feel strong arms wrapped around her once again and wanted to forgive every mistake, absolve every wrongdoing until nothing else stood between her and the one person she had come to care for, but had pushed away.

_Let her come and take me back herself, should her plight be sincere. _Her vanity rebelled. After all this time, it still refused to relent.

_You _know _it to be sincere! _Her heart shot back, fighting the fire that burned within her, smothering her until her hands balled into fists and her eyes squeezed shut. Ignorance was not her sanctuary, however, for the moment she closed her eyes, she saw glimmering orbs of violet-blue suspended in the darkness, flailing every which way as if lost amid oily shadows. From what meager light it gave off in her disobedient mind, she thought she saw flame-red hair, doused and smothered by unrelenting raindrops. The faint traces of Lowtown ale, rough and harsh to the smell, coalesced in her nostrils.

_She's been drinking._

_ A lot._

Her entire being throbbed with heartfelt agony as regret swam to the forefront of her preoccupied mind, lending clarity and force to the mental image that she tried to push away but refused to let go. She needed to see, to watch on in silence, even though every fiber of her being struggled against her restraint.

She felt the jarring impact of cold stone as she lost her balance. She felt the tears running down her face, mingling with the midnight rain. She felt inability, helplessness and longing as she slumped against the wall, letting the prickling, taunting droplets of water hammer her shuddering frame.

_She shivered from the cold, the fire in her eyes long since burned out._

_ She held her head low, the pride, the confidence she once had torn from her._

_ She wept silently, alone and in the dark, trembling lips unable to form the word, the name of the one she loved and lost._

Bethany Hawke started when she felt it staining her skin, opening her eyes and bringing the back of her hand against her right cheek. She did it slowly and carefully, although she already knew what it was. She just had to see it with her own eyes.

"Commander?" A voice came from behind.

She gasped and turned round, bringing the hand from her cheek down and behind her body, rubbing what little moisture lingering on her skin into the worn fabric of her Grey Warden frock.

"Y-yes?" Bethany stammered, attempting to regain her composure before the Warden, who had so rudely intruded upon her, noticed the tears on her face and the erratic pulse of her breath.

Delvin Aristold, senior Grey Warden of the Free Marches, looked at his newly-anointed commander with concern. The red veins in her eyes and the swollen puff of her face told him all he needed to know, and what he knew made him snap at himself.

"Is this... a bad time?" Delvin asked tentatively. He knew full well it was, but the news he brought with him carried importance as well.

"I... No, Delvin, not at all," Bethany managed, fighting the urge to clench her fists to keep the tears at bay. All the while, memories besieged her mind. Mere sight became difficult, and she patronised her growing headache with a wrist to her forehead.

"It's not easy, is it? To be Warden-Commander?" Delvin asked, his hand not touching but gently guiding Bethany to the section of the wall she had been watching.

"I'm glad you noticed."

"That's why I didn't stick my neck out when Madred died. Maker knows he could've been better." Delvin said, the mirth in his voice giving way to thinly-veiled hatred as he practically spat his name out.

"He didn't deserve the power he had, over you and over everyone else." Bethany remarked.

"Aye. And if it hadn't been for you, Hawke, we'd still be idiots kept in the dark, stumbling in the blind." Delvin nodded, "That's why we gave you his seat, you know, because you're the only one who broke free."

He turned towards her when she gave no answer, brows raising in question. "Hawke?"

He saw her flinch from his use of the word.

"What's wrong?"

Bethany blinked, jolted out of her reverie. "Nothing... It's just that I'm not used to being called that." Her eyes trailed to the other end of the courtyard, where the cracks in the foundation of a certain faceless statue reminded her of her bitter betrayal.

_The relief that shot through her as her sister, unstoppable and relentless, backed away from her killing blow. She felt her faculties return to her, her body once again under her command as the demon relinquished its hold on her. She felt tears well in her eyes as her sister stayed her hand, lowering her onto the ground._

_ "Remember how she lied to you, little one..." The demon emerged once again, speaking from within a darkness that resided within her very soul._

_ Its influence snaked over her. She did not resist. The dagger pushed itself through steel and into warm flesh. She saw her gasp in pain, in surprise and, of all things, she smiled._

"I was no more immune to the demons' influence than you were, Delvin. I'm no more worthy of this station than you are." Her hands went to her dagger. She tried hard to fight the emotions that lingered on the worn hilt. She tried telling herself that it was Seryna's doing, that it was her taloned fingers that slid the blade into Clarissa's stomach, but she couldn't convince herself. Hadn't she won free? Hadn't she wrestled control from the demon at the last second and begged for her sister's mercy? And had she not been goaded by the treacherous seductress corrupting her mind into relinquishing her control over her body once again?

If Clarissa's lie made her a traitor, then what did this make her?

She felt strong hands, masculine hands, turn her round and hold her tightly at arms' length. She lowered her eyes as the senior Warden's easy-going tone and his at-times-inappropriate jests gave way to genuine concern.

"No, but if it hadn't for you and your sister, Madred would still be dragging away young men and women from their homes, putting demons in them and making them his mindless foot soldiers." Delvin said with no room for doubt in his gentle voice.

"The Grey Wardens are in your debt, Bethany. And that of your sister, as well." Delvin said, smiling reassuringly as Bethany nodded feebly. He was not aware of the emotions she fought, with tooth and nail, behind her shrouded eyes. Only one other person knew her well enough to see what she hid, and that person was leagues away, powerless as she surrendered to the elements without and within. And it was _her _doing.

_More so my sister than myself. She's the hero. She's always been the hero, the big sister who took care of everything._

Bethany stopped herself. She's not her sister anymore. She herself had made that clear to her not a week ago.

_Clarissa._

She had loved her in her own way, doing whatever it took to protect her in her own way. And she had pushed her away for precisely that.

She gritted her teeth, the reins over her magic spiraling out of control. She never thought she could hate herself this much. Despite her best efforts, a choking sob escaped her as she noticed, for the first time, how she had be so, so wrong.

She closed her eyes again.

_She was back in the rain again._

"I'm sorry." Bethany whispered, her body shuddering as love and loss staked their claim on her heart, tearing it in half. He barely caught her when she collapsed, the conflict within proving to be too much.

She felt someone calling her name. Near or far, she could not tell.

"I'm just so... tired." She murmured before her eyes closed in merciful lapse.

In the distant south, thunder and lightning waged war.

/There's something special about connection. When it's there, you barely notice because you take it for granted. When it's not, your knees go weak, your heart shatters and you're left with a pale reminder of what things once were. I've learned that the hard way when I was hard at work with this chapter, when a phone call reopened old wounds and returned old connections that I'd thought I'd let go of. Perhaps it's not the same connection as what I've written about in these 1,000 words, but it feels just about the same.

If you've reached this line in words, then you know of what connection I speak.

Spike: Sometimes a kick is what one needs to get back up fighting. Fenris was tricky to write, though. He's moody.

Night: I feel for you. I really do. But the earplugs stay on. Good luck once again! It's only one of the most defining periods of time in your life!

And as a side note, the aggregate visitors (repeat readers) on this story, last month, has just broken through 1,000. I thank these 1,000 people for their silent encouragement, even when at times when I disappoint. But for those countless others out there: Come back soon!


	27. Never Go Back

Katja grunted as the weight on her right shoulder intensified, the woman leaning on her for support once again threatening to collapse from her unnamed exhaustion.

Clarissa Hawke struggled to maintain her breathing. Never had inhaling and exhaling taken so much out of her. Her head felt like it was swimming in clouds, her body drowning amidst a sea of flames and her heart providing her with fresh pain with every delivery of blood through her failing system. She felt hot and dry, like a crumpled tunic hung out to dry on a clothesline in midsummer. It didn't help that the package came with an audience.

"That'll teach you not to dance in the rain, Hawke. Did you _want_ to get a cold?" Merrill, too sprightly and slender to carry anything of considerable weight, pivoted in her stride and strolled backwards from the direction she was guiding her companions in, her steps light, springing and energetic. "What were you thinking?" She asked, her voice a mixture of confused innocence and friendly concern, as always.

"I see you still haven't changed a bit, Merrill," Katja shot bitterly, glaring at the little elf, "still the oblivious, innocent, childlike excuse of a First to the Keeper." Couldn't she see what afflicted the human woman was something far sinister than mere physical illness? Sadistic satisfaction ran through her as the dainty elf visibly folded inwards.

A hand, weak but insistent, draped itself over the arm that kept Clarissa upright, making her break away from her glare to see Clarissa squeezing her hand, shaking her head.

"I was just trying to lighten the mood..." Merrill said sheepishly. She counted herself fortunate when Katja relented. She turned back around, resolving to dote her attentions on Sundermount's greenery. It was a refreshing sight. It reminded her of home.

"If it were a common cold, we wouldn't need to half-carry, half-drag Hawke out here, now wouldn't we?" Anders interjected heartily. He _had _tried, he reasoned, with every method of healing he knew. Poultices, spells, potions, even letting Justice look her over. Nothing had worked, and Justice's examination only led to more questions bubbling in their shared consciousnesses. He'd found something he didn't... _understand_.

"Don't worry. Keeper Marethari will know what to do." Merrill said, keeping her eyes on the road for the flying colours that signified the Sabrae clan, _her _clan's presence.

"Marethari..." Katja murmured. It had been so long since she last laid eyes on her Keeper, her teacher, the only leader in her life that she'd looked up to and respected. That is, until the actions of one put her entire clan in danger, killed Tamlen and scores of others, and turned her into... this.

She glanced sideways, looking past the nest of unkempt auburn hair that rested on her shoulder and rested her blood-red eyes on the midnight black of her skin. It felt like she hadn't seen the landships for decades, hadn't heard the gentle creaking of the aravels amidst birdsong, hadn't smelled the aroma of burning cinder from the campfire and hadn't felt the comfort of being among her own kind for a lifetime. Deep inside, she wondered if the clan felt the same and, although she refused to let it show, she feared how her kin would react to her reappearance after all this time. She had left a survivor, the lead hunter of her clan, and now returned as a member of an order her kind knew little about. If anything, she'd grown much taller. The Dalish were slight in their height when compared to humans and, considering the fact that she was a head taller than the mage assisting in keeping Clarissa upright, it only added to the worry that coiled in her heart, like vipers slithering over one another, vile and poisonous.

The faint rustling of leaves, out of place in an otherwise serene landscape, rang warning bells in Katja's troubled mind, tearing her away from idle thoughts and worries. Suddenly alert, her eyes darted to and fro amidst the low bushes that lined the strangely regular peaks of the narrow, winding pass they were treading upon.

To her heightened senses and her keen elven ears, the familiar sound of straining bowstrings did not escape her.

Only this time around, she heard one after the other, echoing all around them, blending into one another until it became impossible to make out exact numbers.

She halted her steps, forcing Anders to do the same and Merrill to stop her humming, just as a dozen figures materialized atop the ridge, flanking them.

Surrounding them.

They wore forest-green, lightweight armor, forged with a metal only the Dalish have mastered and tempered by meticulous craftsmanship only possible under elven hands. White, stylized symbols of hallas, the beasts of burden for the Dalish, stood in stark contrast at the center of their breastplates. There were men and women both, every one of them glaring with unerring precision at the intruding group with wide, round eyes only narrowed by caution and lethality, and every one of them pressed the taut bowstrings of their uniform, recurved longbows against their cheeks, their actions fluid, accurate and deadly. Their aim unwavering, they trapped the four intruders with the intensity of their stares alone while another of their kin appeared from beyond the bend. Like them, the lone Dalish elf was garbed in full armor but, unlike them, he held a naked sword in his right hand and a sturdy yet elegant shield on his left. His gaze was unflinching, cold and calculating as he ran it over the frozen group, narrowing when he recognized the wary Dalish girl at their front.

"Merrill," he hissed, "we were well rid of you."

"Fenarel, please. I need to see the Keeper." She said, a pleading tone evident in her voice. She turned round, gesturing at the limp human hanging between the rest of their party furtively. "She needs her help."

The Dalish warrior, Fenarel, sneered derisively. "You want us to help a shem? For what? So you could bring more of your troubles into our clan?" He spat and swore, anger animating his originally passive features.

"You've already done more than enough, Merrill. Remember the Eluvian? How you couldn't let go of that pathetic dream of yours? Tamlen was dead because of you, because you couldn't get over your cursed dream! They listened to you, followed you into the woods and they held their ground while you escaped, without so much as looking back!" He cried, the emotions that ran high in his voice betraying the fact that he was speaking for more than his clan and far more than what they, as a whole, had lost.

"I _did _look back, Fenarel! I didn't want them to die!" Merrill shouted, fear, remorse and regret striking blow after blow at her. "Not a day goes by that I do not mourn their loss, Fenarel. But what I did was for the good of our people, the good of our clan! You have to-"

She stopped then, for she noticed the wavering light in his eyes, mirroring the midday sun as it reflected its rays, carrying none of its warmth.

"Understand?" Finished the warrior, Fenarel, in a much smaller, much weaker voice. The hand on his sword grew bone-white as he clenched his fist around the handle. "How can you ask me that, Merrill..."

Tears spilled onto his cheeks. The Dalish perched atop the ridge shifted their gaze for the briefest of moments.

"when _she _died in your stead?"

Merrill was silent. For that, she had no retort.

Someone else did.

"You were always too quick to judge, Fen." A voice came from behind Merrill, brushing her aside as she backed away, still at a loss for words.

Fenarel's eyes widened in shock as he saw through the midnight-black skin, the maroon eyes and the inhuman height, her slanted, feline features, more pronounced than any of his kin, blurred but still vivid in his mind.

"Bor'assanen," Katja projected her voice so the hunters surrounding them could hear her words, "lower your weapons. Your huntress commands it."

The trio behind her watched, dumbstruck as the archers, one by one, obeyed. Their eyes were fazed by confusion but, in some of them, the spark of recognition burned like wildfire, overcoming their inhibitions.

"Katja?" One of them called, incredulous. The lone question was swept away by the sound of armor clinking against armor as Fenarel strode forward, tearing off his helm so he could see clearly, unhindered by the metallic visage. Clarissa, with her bleary eyes and weary mind, could not make out the features of the warrior who had not moments ago been adamant in barring their way. She could tell he was quite comely, though. His light blue eyes were as wide as saucers, running up and down the slender, elven woman standing before him, but something in his eyes betrayed the fact that he did not regard Katja as one of his kind.

Indeed, one would have thought Katja had plummeted from the heavens in a shower of flames, had they examined Fenarel's expression alone.

"Kat..." Fenarel murmured, disbelief etched across his face, "is it really you?"

Katja felt a tremor run through her, a mixture of roiling emotions bubbling up, the name awakening some part of her that she had all but buried, deemed dead as dead could have been. And yet, here he was, calling her name, looking into her eyes, dragging her from this life into the previous, changing her into a person who she had long forgotten. A person she had tried so hard to forget.

She nodded, the last of her barriers crumbling before him.

"Emma sa'lath." She whispered in endearment, in happiness, in reclamation of what she thought she had lost. She rushed forward and embraced him, squeezing herself tight enough around him that he gasped softly before his arms mirrored her own, wrapping around her slowly, gently. While she hugged her in her crushing embrace, however, she noticed something odd – Fenarel's arms were halting in their movements, hovering just out of contact with her body, as if he was holding himself back.

She gave the notion little thought before tossing it out of her mind, separating herself from Fenarel and looking into his eyes, and there it was again – Doubt, uncertainty and a host of different emotions flickered across his eyes in a split second and she thought she saw, of all things, guilt.

Snapping at herself, she turned round and gestured towards Clarissa, who was leaning on Anders for support, her pallid skin and bleary eyes a silent, yet reluctant, plea for help.

"She needs the Keeper." Katja said, laying a hand on Fenarel's arm. She had so much she wanted to tell him, to share with him, to shed light on the past year when they've been torn apart, but she forced herself to remember what she had come for. She had found her love, lost it, and found it again, and now she was determined to help Clarissa do the same thing.

Retreating from Fenarel, but never keeping her eyes off him, Katja slid herself under Clarissa's right arm once more.

The archers retreated from the ridges without a sound, reappearing further down the pass, which widened to reveal a small clearing surrounded by dense woods. Red-and-white halla horns, embroidered on flowing banners of cloth, hung from separate poles around the perimeter of the clearing. Katja took it all in, looking round, inhaling deeply, feeling the familiar wash of the breeze. She noticed no fewer than a dozen pairs of eyes staring at her, but she paid them no mind.

She was back.

_The Sabrae._

_ Home._

The camp was deathly quiet, save for the sound of two elven tongues in effluent conversation caught her sensitive ears, making her squint at the forge situated beside a row of tents that lined the edge of the clearing. A deep, gruff and somewhat impatient voice, obviously male, was offset by a slower, gentler but raspy female voice, as if wizened by time. She recognized both of them without even needing to see their faces.

The conversation abruptly stopped as two of the hunters stepped behind the red canvas tent that blocked Katja's view of the forge. They returned just as quickly as they have disappeared, though a woman now strode between them as they walked briskly towards her. Katja felt her heart leap to her throat at the familiar figure.

Keeper Marethari walked at a leisurely pace, allowing the hunters flanking her to outstrip her stride and in return giving her more time to examine the outsiders in their camp. Her slanted eyes, a deep green mirroring the forests around her, sparkled with an intelligence that was gathered from long years guiding her young through thick and thin. They locked onto Katja immediately, and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise widen them slightly. As she approached, Katja noticed her relative shortness compared to the more athletic of the clan, which translated to her being a full head slighter than Katja herself. Despite that, the way Marethari carried herself highlighted her position as the clan's leader, with her head held high and her strides gentle but firm. Her presence exuded an air of authority, warranting unspoken respect from the Dalish under her leadership, a respect that was apparently well-deserved.

Her footsteps were silent save for soft crunches in the grass as she stopped in front of Katja. Her forest green eyes remained fixated on her own, never wavering in its attention but soft and gentle with its inspection. She had to look downwards at her to maintain eye contact, but that didn't diminish the feeling of smallness she felt coursing through her as her Keeper looked at her. It was as if she were a child again, under the watchful eyes of her mother.

"Welcome back, da'len." Marethari said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. Her touch was warm, comforting, like the familiar sight of home after a long journey. She was once the huntress of the clan, the most skilled with the bow and the Keeper's favourite, second only to Merrill. Time has robbed her of those. She was no longer the prodigal, but a stranger. She saw it in Marethari's eyes, and in the eyes that never left her since her entry – The wary, guarded stare reserved for an outsider.

_You still have Fenarel._

"Keeper," Katja replied, bowing her head.

"The Wardens have treated you well?" Marethari asked, cocking her head to take a closer look at her. It was not like her, Katja thought, to worry for her. She's always been independent, and Marethari knew it.

_She's changed._

_ A lot has changed._

"My wellbeing is of lesser concern at the moment," Katja said, motioning for Anders to let her shoulder Clarissa on her own and bringing her forward to the Keeper's eyes, "she needs your help."

Marethari's eyes softened with sadness as she recognized the ailing human. "What have you done to yourself, child?" She asked.

Clarissa struggled to remain standing. She gave no answer.

"Take her to my tent."

Wordlessly, they obeyed. Anders took his position at Clarissa's side again, and they carried her to a circular tent on the opposite side of the camp with a worried Merrill in tow. Marethari held the flaps while they set her down on a bedroll inside the tent.

The interior of the tent was dry and warm, the temperature maintained at just the correct level that it would feel comfortable but not to the point where it became stuffy. Katja smiled to herself as memories of her being called into the "red round prison" every time she snuck out of camp, much to her parents' and Marethari's frustration. Her curiosity of the outside world, however, was invariably trounced by her sense of belonging to her clan. She always came back, save for that fateful day.

_"Hurry!" Surana hissed, serpentine daggers flexing in her hands as she eyed the woods surrounding her._

_ "It's not enough! My magic is not enough to purify it!" Merrill cried, a starburst of azure light escaping from gaps between her fingers, emanating from the shattered piece of ancient Elven metal._

_ "I can hear them!" Tamlen whispered, fear gripping him, twisting his voice and vexing his aim._

_ "Steady, Tamlen. The woods will protect us. They cannot harm us here." She said, attempting to soothe her fellow hunter's worries._

_ And then they came for them._

_ Drawn to the tainted, broken mirror, they came for them, materializing out of the forest by the dozen. Their eyes burned with bestial hunger, with a lust only one thing could slake._

Blood.

_ Surana._

_ Torn apart. Taken by the monsters._

_ Tamlen._

_ Run down while he ran. Left for dead._

_ Marra._

_ Riddled with black arrows. Taken by the monsters._

_ All the while, she stood her ground, buying Merrill time to return to the clan, to tell them of their wayward quest, to send help._

_ She didn't get back in time._

_ Overpowering, excruciating pain overcame her as they fell upon her, raining blow after blow with their misshapen weapons. She survived just long enough for them to reach her, for them to take her away._

Katja blinked. She realized the tent was empty save for Clarissa, Marethari and herself. The Keeper's eyes were on her, then jerked towards the door.

_Privacy. _She realized, backing out the door just as she heard faint whispering from Marethari, as a mother would an ailing daughter.

She stepped into the sunlight to find Fenarel staring at her.

With a woman by his side.

The warm musk in the Keeper's tent washed over Clarissa. The chill that resided in her bones fought back vigourously, trying to repel the heat while drawing on Clarissa's own strength. She was beyond caring, however. A numbness had long since come over her, shutting out both physical and mental discomfort. She had welcomed it at first, for it dampened the longing in her heart and the pain of guilt in her thoughts. It had sapped her will, little by little, until she toppled down the stairs leading into Darktown, her wobbling legs unable to support her weight. What happened next was vague and black, only acknowledged by ear as Anders carried her into his clinic, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Since then, she has downed countless brews and herbal extracts, but none restored her waning strength; She had felt wave after wave of creation magic wash over her, but none lifted the stifling blanket of fatigue that was smothering the life out of her. Day by day, darkness crept around the corners of her failing vision, tempting her with total blackness.

She vaguely recalled a figure in black, highlighted by red eyes clouded with worry, staying by her side from dawn till dusk; She remembered a distressed Merrill, shaking her in futility and desperation, praying for her recovery with her cold, lifeless hand clutched between her own; Out of everything, she remembered a woman who frequently dogged Anders with questions, pacing back and forth and cradling her inflamed cheeks with a wrinkled hand.

Then, out of the ether, she felt crisp, cool forest air on her skin as they took her outside the city, to the clan of Dalish elves who despised anyone and everyone not of their association.

And now here she was, letting an old Dalish elf probe at her mind without restriction. Not that she had any say in the matter.

"You do realize the extent of your actions, shem?" Marethari asked brusquely, a sigh escaping her thin lips as she boiled a rag to wipe at the sweat gathering on her forehead.

"Y-Yes..." Clarissa answered feebly.

"It matters little. The bond between you and whoever you've chosen is dragging you ever closer to Falon'Din's embrace. The distance is too great." Marethari said. A tone of wonder crept into her voice, "What you've done has been shunned and feared by the wisest and bravest of us."

"Why?" The Keeper asked, unsure why she even asked such a question. Some part of her wanted, _needed_, to know.

"It was... her life or mine... I chose mine." Clarissa said, the fatigue in her voice doing little to mask the determination she had when the words tumbled out of her mouth.

"You must love your sister very much." Marethari said, clearly aware that such forms of affection transcended familial love. From what she had felt, the love between them was strong, pure, but far too quick to bloom.

"Bethany... Is she all right?" Clarissa asked, weakly beating herself up inside for not asking sooner.

"She suffers from the fatigue that afflicts you both. Your untrained mind is unstable. Your bond is drawing from that, and with the distance it's travelled, it's killing you."

"And her." Clarissa said.

"And her." Marethari agreed.

"Can I... close? That distance?" Clarissa asked.

"It would be far too dangerous for you, child. You would not survive the trek through the Vimmarks."

"I have to. There's no... other... way." Clarissa said. Her body rebelled against her words, consuming her in uncontrollable spasms as she coughed and heaved, every intake of breath becoming increasingly difficult.

Marethari averted her resolute gaze, conflict evident in her eyes. Would it be wrong for her to even _suggest _this?

"There... is another path." Marethari said haltingly, doubting herself with every syllable she uttered. In all her years as Keeper, no decision has troubled her so.

Even in her fragile state, Clarissa caught the uncertainty in her voice. She felt white, blank fear creep over her at the ominous tone.

"To sever the link." Marethari said, taking a deep breath and exhaling the words out, as softly and gently as possible.

It hit Clarissa like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of her and making her gasp with sudden agony. She felt the Keeper edge closer to her, and she pushed herself away with all the strength she could muster, all the while battling a fear that threatened to take away everything, to rob her of everything she had left.

"You will last no more than a day with the magic draining your life force. What happens after that, child? Will you spend the last seconds of your life amidst frozen peaks and howling winds, knowing that with your last act of defiance, you have sealed your fate as well as that of which you hold most dear?" Marethari said, pinning her down at her shoulders with her willowy hands. Had Clarissa's strength not been a shadow of what it had once been, she would have shoved her clear with brute force, letting nothing stand in her way. But now, she was powerless, helpless before the frail might of the Dalish Keeper as she whispered words into her ears, words that she fought against with every fiber of her being, battling against a bitter truth she refused to accept.

"Your path must not end here, young one!" Marethari insisted, remembering what she had seen in the human woman's eyes. The light within them shone deep into the beyond, a sign of a lifetime rivaling the ancient Arlathan elves themselves. She could not, _must not_, allow her to throw that away. "If you throw your life away, she will follow, one way or another."

Clarissa's struggling ceased. Tears leaked from the sides of her eyes, seemingly vanishing into the warm, musky air of the tent.

"You're right," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

The resolve in Marethari's eyes softened as she saw the resignation in the human woman's eyes and the aura of despair that seemed to permeate her. Taking a deep breath, she recited the spells needed for spellbreaking in her mind, her aged, weathered heart painfully aware of what she was about to do.

"Do not resist…" Marethari said, closing her eyes and using her mind to discern her surroundings instead. The world went black for a brief moment, then flared to life as her probing mind touched upon a life force so vibrant in its liveliness and headstrong in its will to live, she forgot to whom it belonged. She felt the intangible barriers around it lower reluctantly, as if opening a gate that led into the woman's soul. She ventured inwards cautiously, resolving to cause the least amount of harm to the distressed consciousness. To her mind's eye, the insides of Clarissa's soul blazed with pure flames, silent in its procession but overwhelming in its intensity. As she searched for the spell that tied Clarissa's soul to her sister's, she thought she heard the call of a hawk, far in the distance. She wondered at it. Never before had she ventured into the mind of a human. Had the Dalish been wrong to think them not their equal, when their minds bested even the sun in their luminance?

Then, she found it.

_Deep inside the fiery depths of Clarissa's soul, she found the spectral image of a hawk, talons intertwined with that of an eagle. Both birds were at the precipice of death, their sharp eyes fluttering and their breathing shallow. For a moment, the Keeper wondered at the image, at the immaculate details on both hawk and eagle, making her doubt herself about its authenticity._

_She believes in them._

_ She saw the strength with which both hawk and eagle clung to one another, nigh on unbreakable with sheer strength._

_Even when faced with certain death, she believes in them._

_ In her._

_ A jolt of fear ran through her as she approached the foreboding pair of hunters, her focus temporarily diverted as their avian eyes sprang open and glared at her with singular intensity. The eagle's eyes softened in enquiry as its head cocked to one side, as if questioning her actions. The hawk, however, kept its eyes fixated on her, intent on burning a hole through her skull._

_ Ignoring the hawk's piercing gaze, Marethari focused instead on the rivulets of spiritual energy that bound the birds together. The violet strains of magic flickered dangerously, waning with the passage of every second. As with all things translated from mundane to ethereal, the distance between them was largely discounted, with its appearance in the Fade being merely inches in length. Marethari knew better. The bond between them was stretched beyond measure, and it was killing both of them._

_ She placed her hand on the talons, expecting a hard, rough feel underneath her fingertips. What she felt, instead, was the smooth, unmarred texture of human skin, untouched by age and contradictory to what her eyes perceived it to be. It removed every illusion she had of the act she was about to commit, and she felt her breath hitch._

"Melava inan enansal, ir su araval tu alvaral,"_ Marethari began, the ancient tongue her race once remembered clearly recited in immaculate, practised syllables, _"u na emma abelas."

_Time was once a blessing, but long journeys are made longer, when alone within._

_ In a way, it foreshadowed what lay before the ill-fated human, telling of the hardship ahead of her. Marethari thought it fitting, and fitting was all it needed to be for the ritual to take effect. All the while she pressed her thoughts into the fragile bond, lamenting but repeating what needed to be said._

_But you have to let go._

Heat suffused the tent as an unworldly light illuminated the interior of the tent, peeking out into the camp through gaps in the dark-red fabric. Marethari noticed the change around her physical body peripherally, but she pushed the stray thoughts from her mind as she focused, keeping in mind the next verses to be recited.

"Lath sulevin,"

_Be certain,_

_ A whiteout of flames engulfed the Dalish Keeper's overextended mind as Clarissa fought back, an uncontrollable part of her breaking free of her inhibitions and enveloping Marethari in an inferno. She felt her thoughts sway and muddle as the fire grew in intensity, bringing with it an agony few could withstand. Dislodging the talons, she pushed hawk and eagle apart, gasping in pain and suppressed anger as the hawk took flight, raking her with its razor-sharp talons. The eagle keened, its mournful call echoing out into the ether._

"Lath araval ana."

_The path shall emerge._

_Every sound produced from her throat rasped and clogged as fresh blood oozed from deep lacerations on her back and outstretched arms, mingling with the fire eating at her skin, all the while grinding her teeth to dust as the hawk continued its relentless endeavour to dislodge her. A small part of her reminded her that the pain was only in her mind, that she was still shielded from harm in the safety of her tent, expending herself to save a woman who was, at the moment, in the form of a spectral hawk hellbent on killing her._

"Arla vent u vir mahvir."

_To a home tomorrow._

_The hawk ceased in its ruthless assault as the words, foreign but unmistakable, calmed its primal instinct and brought its eyes upon the eagle underneath it. Their eyes locked, looking past the battered elf between them, remaining standing in her defiance. Bruised, cut and gravely wounded, Marethari thought she felt the ruffle of wind in her short, tied hair. Her concentration was slipping. Reality was interlacing with her perception of the Fade. She heard whispering – faint, weak but distinct._

"_I'm sorry…"_

She heard shouting, muffled and agitated as if heard beyond of veil of cloth. Daring a break in her mantra, she reached into reality and took control of her throat.

"Stay back!" She shouted to the clan gathered outside, feeling the rippling wind in the tent carry her words outwards.

_She allowed her arms respite, lowering them and stepping backwards. Understanding gleamed in the hawk's eyes, encased in a film of shimmering tears. The frightful strength in its talons lay dormant._

"_Suledin, Da'len." Marethari spoke to the hawk gliding on windless air, attracting its attentions with her words._

_Endure, child._

"_Melana 'nehn enasal ir sa lethalin."_

_And time will again be the joy it once was._

_She watched as the tendrils of spirit magic snapped –_

And kept her eyes closed as Clarissa cried out at the sudden emptiness that filled her.

Every single elf in the camp showered Marethari with frenzied questions, relieved exclamations and quizzical looks as she lifted the flaps of the tent. She shook her head, silencing all of them, then motioned to Katja, who nodded and brushed past her, heading into the interior of the ransacked tent. She noticed a gut-wrenching emotion hidden within her maroon eyes a split second before the dark-skinned elf disappeared into the tent.

"How is she?" A human mage, the one named Anders, asked. Marethari stared at him for a brief moment, judging his motives to be pure and his concern to be genuine. Her heightened mind, sensitive to the touch of others after her ordeal, sensed something burning within the good-natured healer. She placed little thought in the matter. Her mind bore many a fresh scar from her exertion. The elves preceding her were correct in avoiding what she had just encountered.

"She has a strong heart," she answered. In a way, it explained everything. Anders nodded, retreating.

Katja emerged from the dark interior of the tent with Clarissa's limp body in her arms. Marethari was relieved to see that the shem's determinate, unyielding violet-blue eyes had, mercifully, drifted shut.

She ran a hand over the flame-red hair, the tangled locks reminding her of the fiery resolve that threatened to consume her.

"Ven atishan, Da'len," Marethari whispered to her, surprising even herself with her referral to the human woman as one of her people. It only seemed right. Or was it only her who thought so? "be strong, and may your heart be whole."

The elves parted before their huntress, cradling her catch as she would a child. Merrill rejoined them at the entrance, silent save for the muffled sob she failed to contain as she saw Clarissa's blank features.

Marethari laid a hand on Katja's shoulder, making her tilt her head sideways. She found speaking a labourious task.

"And what of you, Da'len? The Sabrae is still your home." She said. She hoped.

Katja's crimson eyes softened, looking forlornly into the Keeper, _her _Keeper's eyes. Then her gaze flickered further beyond. Marethari followed her unwitting gesture, finding the clan's lead hunter, Fenarel, bowing his head as Vania, his wife, returned the dark-skinned assassin's gaze steadily. There was no animosity between the women, but Marethari understood, in an instant, what was making her favoured huntress walk off without a backward glance.

"No," Katja answered, a bitter tone in her voice.

"Not any longer."

/_Save yourself,_

_Don't look back,_

_Tearing us apart until it's_

_All gone._

_The only world I've never known,_

_Sleeps beneath the waves._

_But I'm the one who's drowning,_

_Without your love I am lost,_

_And I can never go back._

Between uncertain love and certain death, how would you choose?

Spike: Love blinds, as does anger. It's the turning back that counts.

The updates will probably be coming in slower than usual (which is already quite slow), because the exams are pressing on my borders. One can only take so much before he takes up arms and fights back. Do come by and sit awhile, though. I may not be churning out 1,000 words every day, but I certainly check up every single day. As always, (R&R) have a nice day./


	28. Confessionals and Bedrooms

Clarissa slumped back into the warm, featherlike embrace of the fur coverlet blanketing. She knew the strength to get up to be within her, within reach of her fingertips, but whenever she attempted to rise from the soft, cozy fortress she found herself trapped in, her extremities immediately went numb, in direct defiance to her commands. Every single time she would lift herself a few inches above the bed, and every single time she went no further than that. Her body had rebelled against her mind, and all she could do was stare up at the ceiling in utter helplessness, showering herself with spite and frustration all the while.

It did not escape her, however, that the finely-made wolf-fur blanket keeping her warm was not torn, worn or damaged in any way, shape or form. In fact, it felt brand new, and she wondered at it in curiosity.

It did not escape her that the mattress beneath her and the silk sheets lightly touching on her back were as sprightly as Merrill's lively footsteps and as soft as fine sand, gentle and caressing unlike the wooden boards and hard floors she had grown accustomed to over the years. If this was an inn of sorts, whoever had brought her here had certainly spared no expense.

It did not escape her that the candles at her nightstand, odourless and smokeless, were held in candlesticks of gleaming silver. Imprinted upon them by the flickering flames were intricate, detailed lines crafted with great workmanship. She had attempted reached out to touch it, but had found the distance between her and the nightstand to be farther than she imagined. She had twisted herself round, trying to reach the other side of the bed with the full length of her outstretched arm and only barely registering the absence of round, clothed springs under her grasping fingertips.

Now, as she cast her eyes about the ornate bedroom again, taking in the sparsely furnished surroundings while forcing her numb mind to think. She craned her head and saw a doorway directly in front of the bed she occupied, the only way out in an otherwise rectangular room that seemed reserved for nobility more than anything.

_You're dreaming, Clarissa. Even if Mother had reclaimed the estate in such short notice, you're not exactly on speaking terms with her._

She felt warmth recede from her cheeks as she recalled Leandra Hawke's despair. Not two years ago, she had lost her son to the Darkspawn horde, tearing apart a family she had tried so hard to keep together. She had fled her home, her friends and everything she had known and loved to hide herself from that, lest the pain that accompanied it would visit itself upon her again. She had returned to her home, hoping to seek refuge in the nobility she still had here, only to find it a disgrace on her name and a laughingstock of her heritage.

_Eighteen years of loving and feeding, and raising. And in one moment, it was all gone._

And there she was, the eldest among her children, bearing ill fortune once again with tears in her eyes and resignation on her lips. She had told her that her beloved daughter, the precocious, pure young girl she had loved more than anything, was lost to the Grey Wardens. All because of her older sister and her foolhardy endeavour to "find the secrets behind our family name."

She never got to finish what she had meant to say before Leandra cast her out the door of the Lowtown shanty that was their home and shoved the door shut. In that moment, Clarissa saw, her mother had had enough. In that moment, Clarissa thought, her mother's sadness may yet have rivalled her own.

In that moment, she saw hatred, simple and unmistakable, etched upon her mother's aging features as she slammed the door.

And so, she lay motionless on the bed, powerless to resist the waves of sorrow, regret and the reluctant acceptance she harboured for what she had done, passing between waking torture and dreamless slumber. She watched sun and moon drift by at the open window, casting light and darkness in its singular cycle. She wondered why a day could drag on for so long. Her strength was returning gradually but for every waking moment she spent trapped in the bed's gentle, forceful embrace, her impatience simmered, growling and snarling at her and at her inability.

The door creaked. Clarissa's eyes sprang wide, hands reaching under her blanket for that dagger she kept strapped to her belt. Both belt and dagger were absent. She silently cursed herself and squinted as a woman bathed in candlelight, obscuring her face with the shining star she held in her right hand. The woman paused in her stride, looking directly into Clarissa's eyes, then approached her bedside and placed the candle on her nightstand. Like the candlestick already present, it gleamed in polished silver, only marred by delicate patterns both enrapturing and elegant.

Much like the woman at her side now.

Clarissa's blood went cold as the fading light revealed her features, the remnants of the candlelight dancing upon her silvery-white, short-cropped hair, cut in the fashion of a housewife who doted her attentions to her family and their fields instead of extravagant, impractical good looks noblewomen and highborn ladies seemed to fancy. If there was beauty to be found in her watery cornflower blue eyes, her round cheekbones, tapered nose and strong jaws, it had long since been washed away, lost amongst the ebb and flow of time breaking upon her for nigh on half a century.

Clarissa watched silently as Leandra Hawke's eyes shimmered, a film of moisture creeping over them. Her heart throbbed. Despite her heart belonging to someone else, she was the one who gave it to her.

"Mother…" She started, a million questions bouncing within her. She groaned as she tried to prop herself against the headboard, feeling her strength drain from her once again as she crossed some invisible boundary with her miniscule exertion.

She scrambled closer to her at the sounds she made, gently but insistently pushing her back down into the soft cushion of the pillows piled under her head. She ran her hand through her hair as she did so, moving her individual fingers through the tangled, tousled locks of auburn hair with care, never losing patience when they became caught or snagged between rebellious strands.

"Hush, baby girl… You're fine. You've been sleeping for two days, but the healer said you'd need a few more to stand up and start walking." She murmured, her soft voice bringing no small amount of comfort to her daughter, who rested her head in the nestle of warm cushions while fixing quivering eyes on her mother. She saw, through candlelight, the faint lines on her forehead that had not been there before, becoming more pronounced when similar lines rimmed her eyes.

Their eyes met, and Clarissa saw the undercurrents of sadness in her mother's eyes, not desisted but merely diminished by the relief that filled her eyes with grateful tears. She could not escape it this time; She could not shirk her responsibility this time.

Her mother had lived a life of hardship, choosing her love and her own family over a life of nobility. Whatever joy she reaped from her children and their father was swept away by the constant guard she kept in her heart and mind for the gift, or curse, that the Maker bestowed upon her youngest daughter. Still, she had taken comfort in that for as long as she could, but no longer.

"Mother, I'm sorry…" Clarissa said, blinking back tears. She would not hold them for long. "I took from you your daughter…"

Hands cradled her face, forcing her gaze to cease its wandering and fixate on watery, grey-blue eyes that gleamed with enigmatic emotion under the wavering firelight. She melted into her mother's touch. It had been so long.

"Never think that, Clare Bear. You did everything you could, I'm sure." Leandra murmured, caressing her eldest daughter's cheeks with a gentleness and a slow, sweet adoration only mothers were capable of. "She's not gone from us yet. I'll send letters, messengers, even go for visits once this business with the estate is settled."

"The estate?" Clarissa asked, her eyes looking past her mother and surveying the ornate bedroom once more.

"Yes, Clare Bear, the estate. You're in it right now."

"You got it back, so soon?" Clarissa asked incredulously. She was surprised the Viscount's office could have managed the red tape in such a hurry, or was it her that had been dreaming for far too long, losing count of the days that had passed?

"Apparently, the name Amell is on quite a number of people's lips these days, what with its sole heir rising from a petty mercenary to the leader of an expedition that retrieved the fortunes of one of the richest Dwarven castes in Orzammar." Leandra said, pride evident in her tone and her expression.

"That wasn't even what we set out for," Clarissa said, an image of Varric and his family fortune, stuffed and packed onto several mules and hauled all the way from Wildervale to Kirkwall, playing out vividly in her mind.

"I also heard from a few of the nobles lounging in the keep that a pair of sisters by the name 'Hawke' had stormed a Grey Warden stronghold up north, purging it of strange creatures that howled through the night for the surrounding villages to hear for months on end. It would seem that part of the reason why we were rushed to the Viscount's attentions was because of this."

Leandra looked at Clarissa with an odd look of confusion in her eyes.

"They seemed afraid of you."

"Falconsreach Hold… We were there," Clarissa admitted, "I had decided to go after Bethany after the Wardens took her away. I slipped into the castle and rescued her."

"But you came home without her." Leandra pointed out. Clarissa sighed inwardly. If there was one thing she didn't at all appreciate about her mother, it was that her keen mind led to question after question.

"No."

"Something else must have happened." Leandra said, bringing the candles closer to the both of them. Coupled with the wax and wane of moonlight, it gave off enough light that mother and daughter could converse unhindered by the encroaching darkness.

"Tell me."

And so she did. She told her everything, from the infiltration of the Grey Warden's stronghold, meeting Katja, encountering Bethany under Seryna's spell, the Warden-Commander's final effort and finally, Bethany's outrage at her sister's deception and her refusal to leave with her. She left out the change she had in feelings for Bethany, for she did not know how her mother would react.

"That isn't my Bethany. She wouldn't leave her family behind out of spite," Leandra observed, the edge behind her eyes growing sharper, "there's something you're not telling me."

"I've told you everything, Mother." Clarissa said with fake exasperation, something her mother had grown wise to over the years she spent coddling a child who concocted all manners of extravagant tales to mask her late homecomings, dragging her younger sister along.

"No, you haven't. She knew you were only looking out for her, as you have always done as an older sister." Leandra said, noting the aversive gazes her daughter shot at the walls around her. "Something's changed, hasn't it?"

_Something has changed._

She rolled the words over in her mind as if examining every last syllable.

_Something has changed, all right._

But was it a monumental shift, putting her life on tilt? Or was it the smallest of changes, merely a transition from one affection to another? Which one was the answer she was looking for? Which one was the dilemma only she could solve?

As her mind buzzed with the questions she entangled herself in, her mother searched her confused gaze. Clarissa saw the worry in her reflected within her reflect within Leandra's as well. She loathed herself for instilling such disquiet in her, after she had sacrificed so much to keep them together. Her thoughts ran back to the moment when her mother, furious and heartbroken, slammed the door in her face. Perhaps, at that moment, she hated herself as well.

"_Help_ me understand this, Clare Bear. You two were inseparable, closer to each other than even lovers had a right to be." Leandra coaxed, a hint of desperation in her voice.

"That's just it, ma," Clarissa croaked, "we were too close."

It was the subtle change in their relationship that caught her off guard. There was an undeniable passion between them. Of that, she could be certain. In a few short nights, they had reinvented themselves from a pair of close sisters, the perfect match for one another, to a pair of consummated, passionate lovers finding their roles vastly different than what they had been for the past nineteen years. In a way, the scales between them were balanced. They had become equals, and she had been playing catch-up with the notion the moment it came to be. A new fire had sparked to life inside her, awakening parts of her she thought she had left behind for good, but it hadn't been enough, because for all its intensity when Bethany melted against her, pressed vigourously her lips onto her own, moaned brazenly into her shoulder, shuddered contentedly against her sweat-drenched body, this new flame never did snuff out the sense of duty and protectiveness that had dominated her for almost twenty years of her life. She was her sister. She needed her protection, and she would do anything and everything within her power to shield her from harm.

_That is where you're wrong, Clarissa. So very, very wrong._

She told her everything, not caring if she objected towards the forbidden nature of their affection. Perhaps it was because Leandra was, after all, her mother, who she thought would understand her better than most. Perhaps she just needed someone to tell it to. She spoke until her lips ran dry, then resumed when she brought a porcelain mug of water to her lips. If she harboured any disapproval of their decision, she did not vocalise them.

"I wasn't thinking straight and I was stupid and now I've lost her," Clarissa said, "and in my pushing her away, so have you."

Leandra Hawke sighed, shadowing her forehead with her hand. She looked and sounded like a strict parent about to give a good finger-wagging. Clarissa braced herself for what she thought was coming.

"I knew it." Leandra said simply, resignation colouring her tone. Oddly, she didn't seem to be angry.

"Your father and I talked about this, you know, about you two spending nearly every minute you could spare together. At first, we thought nothing of it, for you were just children." Leandra said, remembering every word she had between Malcolm and herself.

"Then both of you grew up, both more beautiful than we could have ever imagined." Leandra murmured affectionately, trailing a finger along Clarissa's cheek. "We'd thought you'd separate, go your own ways, find yourselves a gentle, loving husband, just like any other woman. But no…"

"My eldest daughter had turned eighteen and had turned out to be a dashing swordmaiden, capable of swooning just about every man in Ferelden."

Clarissa fought to keep herself from smiling.

"And yet, every minute of every hour of every day, I saw you sitting with your back against that old tree in the clearing, waiting for Bethany to finish her lessons with Father."

"I didn't realize you were spying on me." Clarissa said.

"I have my ways, little girl. You just don't know them." Leandra smirked, something Clarissa rarely saw.

"But, as I said, nothing's changed. The hugs were still as tight, the whispers ever so intimate and secretive," Leandra continued. "You never did let go, and I didn't think you could have."

"No. I couldn't have."

"Malcolm saw it first. He'd caught her, more than once, staring at you with that faraway look in her eyes when she should've been focusing her spells on nurturing a garden rose."

"What happened?" Clarissa asked.

"She ended up lighting it on fire." Leandra remarked. They both chuckled. "He'd told me later on that the magic she was channeling depended on what she was thinking."

Clarissa caught the twinkle in her mother's eyes. She blushed.

"What?" she asked incredulously. It was a rhetorical question. They both knew what she meant by it.

"And then there was that night before you enlisted in the army," Leandra said, "she'd been heartbroken, more so than she should've been. A mother senses such things, you know."

Clarissa swallowed. There was no denying it now.

"For nineteen long years, I thought I was alone with these thoughts, these desires that I shouldn't possess. To have them revealed and requited so quickly, completely… It caught me off guard. I didn't know what to do. I've spent my whole life looking after her, protecting her as she grew into the woman I've come to love. When the time came…" Clarissa trailed off. She was wrong. She could see it now. This was her repentance, her salvation from her punishment.

"I guess I chose what I've always chosen to be: the big sister. I chose poorly."

Leandra nodded, a reassuring smile on her face.

"Sometimes, Clare Bear, you're not supposed to take the fall for everything. When you chose to," she paused briefly, rephrasing her words, "_gave into _falling in love with Bethany, you chose to be her equal. It's like floating on water, baby girl. You follow where it takes you and you revel in the freedom it gives you, because your duty to your little sister is gone now. Now, it becomes a duty to your lover. 'Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.'"

There it was again with her mother quoting scripture to press her case. Clarissa smiled. It was certainly effective. She supposed she just needed to be told off by someone else.

"Here we go with the scriptures again, ma." Clarissa chided.

"Bite me, Clare Bear." Leandra shot back, making a face. They both laughed.

"Does that mean I have your blessing, mother?" Clarissa asked. That was one more thing she needed to be sure of. It was, after all, frowned upon by religion.

"My blessing?" Leandra asked, mock incredulousness twinkling in her eyes and high in her voice, "My youngest daughter has found herself someone who would understand her like no other, lay down her life for her and love and cherish her above all else."

She pressed a kiss on her daughter's forehead both symbolically and affectionately, favouring her with a dazzling smile and teary eyes.

"What more can I ask for?"

Clarissa gasped when her mother, unusually emotional, scooped her from the bed and held her tightly in a crushing embrace. She sighed in contentment, reveling in the feeling she hadn't felt for quite a number of years.

It was some while before she noticed the waves of fatigue washing over her.

"Ma, stop!" Clarissa patted her mother lightly on her back, who promptly released her.

"I… feel a bit woozy." Clarissa remarked. She didn't know her mother had such strength within her.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Leandra chuckled, "that healer, Anders, placed a spell over you to keep you from dragging yourself out of bed too early. He said you needed the rest."

"It would seem I needed you more than I needed rest, ma." Clarissa said, grinning.

"So it would seem." Leandra agreed, then yawned as she noticed the waning moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Oh, Maker's breath, look at the candlemark!" Leandra exclaimed. Clarissa followed her gaze to the pile of cooling wax that dripped from the flickering candlelight, which was significantly shorter in its height.

"You'd think they'd have put more thought in practicality than just making it look pretty." Clarissa observed, the apparent disinterest in her eyes belying the radiant joy she felt running laps within her. She felt stronger already.

_Tomorrow._

_ Tomorrow, I ride for Falconsreach Hold._

_ Tomorrow, I will hold you in my arms again or die trying._

Leandra Hawke laughed as she scooped up the candlestick from the nightstand, blowing out its stationary counterpart and enveloping the ornate master bedroom of the Amell estate in a wash of soft, cozy moonlight.

"Don't stay up too long, Clare Bear," Leandra said as she eased herself through the door heading for her own bedroom, "you need to rest."

Clarissa closed her eyes and let the Fade drag her into its realm.

_Yes… I have much to do._

__/It's refreshing to write something more sunny for a change.

Spike: There now, why the long face?

Artman: :D

This story is rapidly approaching a close and a sequel is definitely among my plans. Until then, read on and be merry! (R&R!)/


	29. Sunshine

She blinked awake at the feel of sunlight and squinted as it hit her bleary eyes head on, creating an explosion of every colour in the spectrum behind her eyes. She stretched herself under the warm fur coverlet, yawning like a cat. Pure, unfiltered sunlight was hard to come by in the Lowtown slums where she used to live, and sometimes she would venture out into the marketplace, isolating herself from the endless crowds of haggling shoppers, finding that particular spot where sunshine would creep between a hollow in the sandstone blocks and stand there, letting the sunlight warm her face and fuel her imaginings of ascending into Hightown with a mansion of her own. Sometimes, Bethany would accompany her, twining her slim fingers in her own as if that link between their bodies would convey thoughts without them ever being said. Now that she thought about the scene, it occurred to her that the scene never really was complete without her sister by her side, sharing in the radiant gift from the sun.

Her eyes adjusted to the bright rays in no time, but she made it a point to remember the feeling. A feeling most took for granted.

_Bethany._

The name tolled in her like a bell, reminding her of the words she had had with her mother the night before. She started to push the coverlet down her body, then paused abruptly as she remembered the last words Leandra said to her before she slipped out of the door.

_"That healer, Anders, placed a spell over you to keep you from dragging yourself out of bed too early. He said you needed the rest."_

"A spell, I see." Clarissa murmured to herself, assessing her options. Her limbs, after three straight days of rest and recuperation, were once again fully under her command, with the bulk of her strength at her disposal. She deemed herself fit for discharge.

"Can't break through what's tailor-made to drain me just by trying to break through…" she mused, letting spoken word put her into perspective and into her thinking shoes. An idea came to her almost instantly, making her giddy for its potential but wary of its consequences at the same time.

She closed her physical eyes, letting the one within her mind spring open. A mass of jumbled thoughts greeted her, taking the form of sparkling, dazzling colours and discontinued images that, should she focus on them closely, would have formed a cohesive shard of her memories. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and bid her chaotic thoughts tranquility, smiling to herself when she felt serenity wash over her mind. Then, she dug deeper, brushing past errant thoughts that suggested a more forceful approach to her problem.

She found it in no time whatsoever, being guided by the memory of the Dalish Keeper, Marethari and her voyage into her thoughts. She felt her mind collapse upon itself, her thoughts coming full circle as she beheld the magnificent spectacle of a hawk, larger than life but just as strong. It stared at her with piercing eyes, its spread wings and poised talons calling to her, awaiting her embrace of the power hidden within her blood. She silently nodded her assent.

The hawk took flight, gliding on intangible air, soaring on untouchable wind and alighting on her shoulder without pause or hesitation.

Her eyes flared as liquid fire suffused her blood, replacing brute physical strength with raw magical power. All at once, she felt the mana in the air, the magic radiating from her sword and bracer, which she now saw had been stored within the wardrobe at the side of the room and, most of all, the tentative but omnipresent tendons of magic that permeated and constituted everything she saw, smelled, heard and felt.

She focused her newfound power on herself and saw the ethereal manacles Anders had placed on her to prevent her disobedient escape. In her mind's eye, it looked akin to physical manacles clamped onto her wrists, though they gleamed with an unworldly light that would have been gone unnoticed by people not attuned to its nature.

_Easy._

She willed the manacles release, feeling them snap apart like a string stretched impossibly taut. She raised her hands into the air experimentally, feeling no sudden plummet of her strength. She added the other and then, satisfied that the spell had been broken and secretly pleased that she had done so with so little effort, sat up, grunting as she heard her bones crack from their time in inactivity.

She gasped when an obscenely large mass of fur, wagging tails and ears and slobbering tongue leapt from the side of the bed and landed squarely on stomach, pinning her back onto the mattress as her Mabari hound, Buffy, assailed her with long, sweeping licks and sharp, playful nips.

"I missed you too, Buffy- Hey, okay! Okay!" she giggled as Buffy ran his moist tongue from chin to forehead, an act he knew to disarm every man, woman and child he could ever come across.

"You've gotten fat, Buff! Has mother been feeding you more than you were supposed to get?" Clarissa asked, knowing that he, to some extent, understood her.

Buffy barked twice, loudly and happily, a mischievous and slightly guilty glint in his puppy-dog eyes betraying him. That was something she had, and still loved about him – His eyes never lost their childishness, ever after he had turned ten years old already.

"How'd you do it? Relentless assault or pouting beg?"

His eyes grew as wide as saucers and the joy in them was replaced with mock craving. That was something else she loved – He never grew out of his tricks, especially the ones she had taught him.

"That's my boy." Clarissa said, scratching him behind his ears, making him whine and lie flat on her stomach, panting contentedly.

"I do hope you haven't been doing this to Mother every day while I was gone." Clarissa huffed, pushing the weighty Mabari off of her flat stomach, which was starting to hurt from his immense weight. She landed feet on the ground and stood, pleased to find that her soles did not wobble after lying in bed for three days. She opened the wardrobe and slipped on a loose-fitting tunic that felt warm like cotton but soft and crisp as silk. She tied a sash around her waist to keep the light garment from flying free, then tugged on an equally lightweight skirt. The floor was, to the unwary eye, essentially a carpet, and as such Clarissa deemed footwear to be unnecessary. Turning round, she saw Buffy curled up at the side of the bed, unmoving save for his persistent panting.

"Giving me the silent treatment, are you?" Clarissa wagged a finger at the motionless lump of dog at her feet. She lightly stomped on the short, quivering tail of the Mabari, eliciting an exaggerated yip from the hound and making him roll over, flailing his stubby legs in the air as if in pain.

"Confess!" Clarissa exclaimed, keeping her voice down so as to not wake Leandra.

Buffy whined nonchalantly and shot her a look that said, _"Maybe just every other day."_

She chuckled, then tickled the sensitive skin on his stomach, making his legs flail even more wildly and his breathing to come in what sounded like huffing giggles.

She laughed as got back on all fours and bounded towards her, a giddy, carefree expression in his puppy-dog eyes. She quickly flung open the door and escaped out onto an interior terrace that, when she leaned over the carved marble railing, gave a clear and empiric view of the main hall below. Bright sunlight streamed in from full-height windows on her left, accompanied by crisp birdsong. The blinds were curled up at the sides, and Clarissa had a clear view of the adjacent mansion, whose owner she could not quite recall.

"Now where did my armour go…?" She wondered aloud, looking to the now-obedient Mabari in askance, "do you know?"

Buffy cocked his head and whined.

"I thought as much." Clarissa ruffled the fur on his head, then descended the stairs on her right, finding a door that led to the estate's study on her way to the center of the hall where a fireplace lay dormant. Buffy struggled to keep up, his paws making for poor stair-climbers.

"Maybe it's out back somewhere." Clarissa said, turning herself full circle and surveying the walls and the ceiling above, finding the portrait of a man in regal raiment above the messenger's desk directly below the terrace.

_That must be grandfather._

Just as she was about to take a closer look at the rendering of the grandparent she never met, she heard the clatter of horse's hooves on the cobblestones of Hightown's streets, which stopped right outside the front door. She crossed the boundary between the hall and the entryway, the cool granite underneath her feet making her wish she had plucked those shoes from her wardrobe.

"Lady, we can't have horses here!" called the voice of a man, most likely a guardsman.

_Who would be so anxious to get to this part of town to not leave her horse at the stables? _She wondered. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she flung open the door.

And felt her entire body freeze over as honey-brown eyes, framed by wavy, jet-black hair favoured her in a sideways stare.

Bethany secured her horse's reins on the hook conveniently placed at the side of the estate's front door, the shock in her eyes quickly vanishing as she composed herself. She took in the ruffled, tousled head of flame-red hair and the spotless tunic her sister wore, judging her to be well on her way in terms of recovery. She felt her insides tighten despite herself, at the sight of the one who she loved the most and hated the most all at the same time. She did not think such a complexity to be possible, but there it was. They were similarly clad, with Bethany's own white-and-blue high-collared tunic and hunting frock being geared for travel over comfort, her leather sash outdoing Clarissa's more simplistic cloth sash in its utility and her tanned, polished leather boots being travel-worn yet stately all at once.

She saw she had made Clarissa's heart stop. A part of her was immensely pleased that she was still capable of such a thing.

"I- It's alright, guardsman. We're… acquainted." Clarissa stammered, not quite able to look past Bethany's face. She had never stopped thinking about every single thing about her.

"Ah, you must be the new Lady Hawke!" the guardsman said, "well, if it's fine by you, it's fine by me."

An uneasy silence pervaded long after the guardsman strolled off on his morning rounds.

"So… May I?" Bethany asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Oh, yes, of course." Clarissa sidestepped and held the door wide as Bethany stepped through. She smelled the fragrance she left in her wake, a tingling scent of spring flowers. Was it just her, or was everything about Bethany designed to entice and seduce? In another time and place, she would have slammed the door shut, pushed Bethany against it and showed her just how much she missed her.

But not here. Not now.

They had some talking to do.

She waited, unsure of what to say as Bethany ran her eyes around the interior of the Amell estate, noting with apparent interest the Amell seal at the top of the overhead terrace.

"Lady Hawke, then, is it?" Bethany mused, "how things have changed."

Clarissa was at a loss for words.

"I thought you're still with the Wardens," she said.

"I left Delvin in charge. He seemed perfectly capable," Bethany said, "unless you don't appreciate me being back…"

"Oh, no! No! I would want nothing more…!" Clarissa exclaimed, quickly but not quickly enough in catching herself. Bethany smiled, warmth coming from the depths of her heart.

_So she did miss me._

"How did you get here so soon?" Clarissa asked.

"A few spells to help me recuperate faster than I should've, and a few spells to encourage my horse to exceed his limits, after what you did." Bethany said, noting that Clarissa's own magic has not fully manifested yet. Or at least, not in the way that it was supposed to yet.

"I'm sorry, Bethany. I-" Clarissa stopped herself this time. She _did _have a choice with the Keeper's decision.

"You had no choice. I understand." Bethany said. She took one step towards Clarissa, then another, "it was that or both of our lives."

She cupped her hand on Clarissa's face, feeling the hairs prickle under her skin as she stiffened at her touch.

"You chose wisely," she whispered. She could hold it no longer. She inched forward.

"No, wait!" Clarissa shook herself, edging away. There was uncertainty in her voice, "I need to talk about this first."

Bethany sighed, feeling the delicious tension between them drain from them.

"Clarissa…" She began, but was cut off.

"No… You listen to me," Clarissa said, adamant.

"Yes?"

Clarissa took a deep breath, her eyes focusing on something far away as she put together her choice of words. She was ready. It was now or never.

"I was stupid." Clarissa said simply, bluntly. It actually felt good, "I was stupid and selfish and just downright dumb. I was wrong about what had changed between us; I was wrong about everything."

_"Lies! Lies!" She had screamed when Seryna showed her the darkness that resided within her, solid, tangible proof that Clarissa, her one and only love, had lied to her. But at that moment, deep inside her torn heart, she knew it to be truth and what her sister had told her to be a lie._

"I thought I still needed to protect you, in every which way I could, but now…" Clarissa's voice broke, her composure shattering into a million pieces, "now that I've seen how wrong I was, now that I've paid for it by hurting both you and me… I-"

Bethany couldn't move. Her legs were rooted in place by the torrent of emotions flooding her, pity warring with anger, love battling against hate. Tears spilled from her eyes; it only seemed to push Clarissa's self-loathing even further.

"I think I know now."

"Know what?" Bethany asked softly, tentatively, her eyes pleading for the answer.

"I know that, despite every single fiber of my being wanting to hurt for you, die for you, the past three days have been the most painful of my life." Clarissa croaked, her back against the wall, shuddering with every sob.

"And I know that I don't want to have that hole in me again," she said, an undercurrent of pleading making itself known, "I don't want to lose you again."

"Are you about done?" Bethany asked, trying but failing to keep her voice from breaking by injecting a tone of mock exasperation. She waited until her violet-blue eyes were upon her once more, then swallowed and began to speak.

"You're not alone in this, Clare," Bethany said, her fists clenching as she fought to make herself heard, "I had been so angry, so blinded with rage that I pushed you away, that I forgot something so dear to me, it's clawed at my heart, my soul for every minute of every hour."

She strode forward then, brushing past Clarissa's arms and pressing directly into her trembling, heaving body until her face was inches away from hers and her breath was hot and heavy on her lips. She ran a finger over Clarissa's left cheek, scooping up a droplet of moisture that has escaped her eyes and cried out softly when Clarissa whimpered, her knees going weak and her eyes clenching shut.

"You're the one thing I couldn't live without." Bethany whispered, slowly closing the distance between them and capturing Clarissa's lips in a long, meaningful kiss. She mirrored her when she moaned, pinning her against the wall with the soft caress of her body, feeling her taut muscles yield to her soft curves, once again.

_Yes…_

Bethany broke the kiss, leaving a flushed Clarissa in her wake.

"And do you know what's changed in the last three days?" Bethany cooed, tracing a finger on Clarissa's lower lip, making their hearts hammer and their blood to sizzle. She barely acknowledged her shaking her head.

"Nothing."

She kissed her again. This time she kissed back, their lips embracing one another and their mouths taking in the inching, caressing touch of their tongues. A contented warmth fell over them, shared between their twin fires of burning desire to taste, smell, hear and touch. Bethany snaked her arm underneath her sister's flowing tunic and around her waist, bringing her ever closer; Clarissa broke her lips from hers, planting fleeting kisses on Bethany's skin until she reached that crook between the flawless skin of her neck and the elegant tilt of her chin.

Then she pushed her away.

Bethany gasped with surprise and puzzlement as Clarissa separated them, her addled mind finding it difficult to decipher the coquettish gleam that resided within her sister's violet-black eyes. They were smoky with desire. It drove her crazy.

"How about a grand tour?" Clarissa asked, taking Bethany by the hand instead of waiting for her answer. She half-guided, half-pulled the flustered young woman up the stairs, passing a number of doors that she neglected to mention. It would seem that she wasn't much of a tour guide.

"I thought-" Bethany was cut off when she led her through an open door that led to a surprisingly spacious room dominated by a lofty king-sized bed. A knowing gleam passed over her eyes. She felt the heat between her legs intensify tenfold.

"What about the grand tour?" She teased.

"This is the first stop." Clarissa said nonchalantly, winking salaciously at her.

Bethany pushed her onto the soft fur coverlet, trapping her head between her outstretched arms. She bit her lower lip, feeling a giddy pleasure stoke the burning fire in her loins as Clarissa stiffened.

_I'm your only weakness._

"Bethany, I need to ask something of you," Clarissa said. Her voice suddenly took on a heavy, serious tone. Even in her throes of numbing desire, Bethany did not miss the feel of magic rising around them, driven by the woman pinned underneath her.

"Yes, Clarissa?" Bethany asked. Her name never sounded so delicious, so lovely.

She felt a hand reach for her sash, pulling it from its place. She felt her tunic come undone, baring the plain bra she had underneath. She felt her violet-blue eyes, darkened with desire and smoked with lust, undressing her.

"Make me feel alive again." Clarissa whispered.

Then she pulled her down. She willingly fell down.

/So, this is it. This is Echoes of the Heart, in all its entirety. This is arguably one of the first novel-length fanfiction stories I've written, discounting ones that crashed-and-burned when I wrote them at 6. It's been a fun ride for me, as I hoped it would be for you as well, dear reader. It also served as proof, to myself and to my parents, that I was perfectly capable of maintaining an ongoing effort. It did help, however, to have such lovely characters at my side, courtesy of Bioware and their awesome character designers and writers. Jennifer Hepler, I believe it is? You are an awesome person and I tip my non-existent hat to you. And of course there's you, dear reader, be you sticking by my at-times-horrible writing from start to finish or simply dropping by to say hello. I would never have made it this far without you. Yes, YOU. Stop looking around.

Thanks to my parents, my computer blablablargh, I think that's how it goes...

Oh and did I mention the sequel./


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